The King's Familiar
by Theriechenbachevent
Summary: When one of Arthur's younger Knight's comes back from a patrol badly wounded, he and the Knights of the Roundtable set off to investigate. What they find is beyond their most frightening nightmares. Turned against his will, Merlin's biggest enemy is himself and his biggest ally will turn out to be the man on the other side of the coin.
1. Call of the Wolf

A/N: I'm terrible I know. BUT i couldn't get this out of my head! Please please PLEASE comment and tell me what you think :) I will of course continue this, as soon as my other stories (Merlin & His Queen as well as MR&TDOA) is finished

 **The King's Familiar**

How was it that things went from horribly wrong to outright devastating so quickly in Merlin's life? This morning, the King had woken Merlin before the crack dawn informing him they had a mission to set out on immediately. Merlin, ever the obedient manservant had simply turned back over, wrenching the covers over his head, muttering darkly under his breath about the various places the good King could shove it. That of course resulted in Merlin being unceremoniously yanked out of bed and out to the stables.

It was a chilly morning, the frost nipping right at the heels of sunrise, cold and fresh. Winter was just around the corner, and Merlin knew in the villages in the northern parts of Camelot were probably already knee deep in snow. All the knights had been waiting already, sat atop their horses, sniggering as Arthur came into view, dragging the difficult manservant with him. They were completely engrossed in their own world, bickering for all the world like a married couple.

"You could have just, you know, woken me up normally."

"You're forgetting that I did, and you muttered some rather treasonous things in your sleep. We could continue on this topic, Merlin, if you fancy spending the night in the dungeons? Or better yet a morning in the stocks?" Merlin went completely courteous in a matter of moments.

"Of course not, sire, I'll be quite happy to sit my arse on a horse at the crack of dawn off to who-knows-where and quite possibly ride off into the sunrise, and into my dreadful demise."

"For once in your difficult life, do as you're told, Merlin."

The dramatics aside, they were off, the horses galloping into the forest as the sun broke over the horizon, painting the Kingdom in brilliant hues of liquid gold and topaz.

* * *

It was only about 4 hours into the ride that Merlin gleaned the true purpose of their excursion, in a conversation with Lancelot and Percival.

"What do you mean we're looking for a witch? I thought we were going after Morgana and Morgause?" Merlin rode up to Lancelot, wincing on a particularly enthusiastic gallop atop the horse he was riding. If the other Knight had seen the look, he chose to ignore it, saving what he could of Merlin's already bruised pride, having been the target of Gwaine and Arthur's teasing over his sore bottom though the servant hadn't said anything of that nature yet.

"Last night, we had company, a group of soldiers we'd sent out weeks ago to make the rounds of the outlying villages and discern their needs. There had been 8 men in the company, only one returned."

"One?" Merlin was aware of this group, it had been comprised of generally the newer recruits of the Knighthood. It should have been a simple, if somewhat tedious task. "Who?"

"Galahad, but he was badly injured. He managed to tell us that they had run into some kind of witch, a woman named Circe and that she'd done terrible things to them. Then he passed out. Arthur woke us all up and said we were going to look for this woman." That was Percival, looking the closest the warlock had ever seen him to angry.

"Just like that?" Merlin asked, aghast. Had the clot-pole any idea of where to even look? Aimlessly wandering around the forest wasn't going to help them.

"Merlin!" Arthur's sharp call from the front of the patrol made him jump before he nodded to the other Knights and rode up next to his King.

"You realize we're going to have to narrow down our search or we're just going to be going in circles right?"

Arthur's lips were pressed tight together in a thin line, the expression indicative of his thoughts, and mirroring his tense position atop the horse.

"I know and we have. Galahad managed to tell us where they were ambushed when the witch attacked." Almost imperceptibly, his knuckles tightened on the reins of his horse. Merlin cocked his head, flicking his eyes back forth from the Kings iron grip to his tense face. It didn't take much to conclude that something about this was keeping him on edge.

"What is it?" Merlin said quietly, lowering his voice so that their conversation didn't travel back to the Knights riding behind them. Arthur's eyes slid away from the path ahead to lock with his for the first since Merlin had come to his side, the surprise visible in his face.

"What?"

"Something about this is making you jumpier than Elyan around Gwen after he's messed up again." Arthur's mouth quirked upward slightly at the comparison, before he flexed his fingers, releasing them from their firm grip with a sigh.

"I'm not sure." He admitted, returning his eyes to the forest around them as they advanced. Behind the Knights were murmuring amongst themselves, also grim faced. Galahad's condition seemed to have struck a chord within them and they appeared to be itching for retribution.

"When Galahad came in last night, he was shredded. I don't use the word as a metaphor, the man's flesh was reduced to ribbons. It was as if some kind of beast had mauled him, not even trying to kill him, but attacking him because he could. The fact that he's alive is a testament to his character. He fought to come back here, to tell us what happened."

"What did happen?" Merlin asked gently, wondering how he'd managed to sleep through this man's arrival and why Gaius hadn't woken him up immediately. As if he's read Merlin's mind, Arthur spoke again.

"Gaius didn't wake you up because he didn't have time and he knew I would need you rested to come out with us in the morning. He was my physician before you came to Camelot, Merlin, he can handle himself far better than any man I've seen." He seemed to remember Merlin's earlier question then, and dug his heels into the horse's flanks, urging him to go faster.

"He wasn't completely coherent, but what I could under stand was that during their patrol, they heard of a disturbance in the mountains beyond the villages, where it was often said that men would go out to hunt game and just fail to return home. No evidence of animal predation or an accident. Just gone. " The hard line to the King's mouth had returned while Merlin grimaced, imagining how this conversation must have gone. Galahad was young, just turned 17. Barely a man and yet Arthur had sent him out on a mission and he probably believed the state of the man was somehow something he was responsible for. It was completely erroneous, but it was what he believed.

"Yes, but what did he say happened to the others and himself?" Merlin asked again, Arthur's tendency to ramble when feeling responsible for a situation was rearing its head again. He realized it as well, and shook it off, continuing.

"According to Galahad, they had stopped for the night, and he'd just taken the first watch of the night when there was shuffling in the trees. At first he thought it was just deer's or something of that nature, but then - and these are his words, not mine – there were 'red glowing eyes' all around them, snarling and growling. That's all he remembers, until his next memory which is climbing out from under bushes at the base of the mountain, and hitching a ride with some merchants to Camelot. He says it was some kind of witch. That was all he could say before he fainted. "

They fell into silence again, the early morning frost making the grass underfoot crisp and filling their ears with the sound of the leaves snapping as the horses stepped on it.

"So where did he say this mountain was?"

"Just a half hour's ride from Ealdor."

. . . . . .

The ride was relatively silent after that. Merlin wasn't sure how to feel with the knowledge that there was some kind of malevolent witch running amok so near to his hometown, where his mother still lived. One that was clearly preying on the people there.

He hadn't been back since Will died, and felt guilty that he was going back only now, for the sole purpose of catching a sorceress. He hadn't seen or spoken to his mother since then. Not even attaching a note when he sent ¾ of his pay to her, even though he knew she lived a hard life, having to deal with reputation that she garnered, raising a bastard child on her own.

The guilt threatened to drown him sometimes, especially when he thought about the fact that he had yet to tell her of his Father's death, despite knowing that she loved him dearly. These thoughts rattled in his mind constantly and that wasn't even including the fears she had about his magic being revealed whilst living in the Castle. It was a never ending source of worry for her.

"Merlin."

He looked up, seeing Lancelot and Gwaine come riding up beside him. He looked at them both, back and forth.

"Cold isn't it?" Merlin said pulling his kerchief over his nose to keep it warm, he hunched his shoulders. He wasn't wrong, the farther they rode, the colder it got. Where there had only been frost and a thin layer of ice earlier, there was now a respectable amount of snow on the ground. The trees were dusted thoroughly in it, the fresh snow crunching underfoot deafeningly loud in the quiet of their surroundings. Gwaine rolled his eyes.

"It's getting a bit old, mate, you can't avoid talking to us by changing the subject all the time." Merlin stared at the long haired Knight in surprise, for all his posturing, the man was gifted with keen skills of observation which weren't normally the talent you would have pegged someone like Gwaine for.

"Who says I'm changing the subject?" The warlock couldn't help the defensive tone that seeped into his voice, Lancelot snorted, yanking on the reins in his hands just a little to keep his stallion from breaking away from the group.

"You are, right now, by saying it." Lancelot gestured with his hands for Merlin to speak.

"Come on, out with it. This whole thing has you more on edge than all the rest of us, and we're the ones who're supposed to go into combat." Gwaine entirely missed the glance that Lancelot gave the sorcerer, knowing full well, that if they were truly hunting a Witch, it was going to be Merlin that did the fighting. The rest of them would find themselves conveniently knocked out or fighting someone useless in an off path location.

It annoyed him that he couldn't do anything to lift the burden from Merlin's shoulder's but he also knew that any attempts to do as such would only slow the warlock down, a physical fight stood no chance in the middle of a magical battle. So as they rode for hours, Lancelot resigned himself to helping Merlin in the only way he knew how.

He talked to the man, took his mind off the witch by engaging in conversation, even drawing Arthur out of his pensive shell by goading Gwaine to start telling some of his more vulgar tavern tales.

After about an hour of hearing the entire company roar in laughter, Lancelot was beginning to regret it, he heard more than enough of Gwaine's escapes, enough to last him a lifetime. It was past sunset when Gwaine tired of talking, leaving the clearing where they'd set up camp, in the snowy forest, to go and catch something to double as a meal, while Merlin set up a fire to cook their food over.

They'd managed to pass Ealdor, though everyone had caught how restless Merlin was as they rode by the village from a far, the vantage point high enough that the boy was able to catch a glimpse of his mother as she went about her daily routine, which unfortunately included being jeered at by the majority of the villagers while she passed, to get to the well for fresh water.

No one missed the way Merlin's hands fisted on his reins or the way his eyes hardened, before he roughly yanked on the horse to take the opposite side of the company in an effort to cut himself off from the sight. Arthur resolved then and there that they would pay the village a visit upon their return, see if they couldn't do anything about his mother's situation, maybe even move her to Camelot. Merlin had been resistant to the idea before, but seeing her life now, he thought that the manservant might just be persuaded to change his mind.

"Ah –HA!" Gwaine triumphant yell echoed through the camp as the others lay down their bedrolls. Elyan and Leon exchanged wry grins as the long haired man came barreling into the clearing hauling the carcasses of two rabbits and a baby deer on a stick. Percival appeared behind him, looking disgruntled as the Knight crowed to the others about how easy it had been to bag their dinner.

"Just one shot, eh Percival? Clean through the head. Andthree of them. What, pray tell, did you catch, you great beast you?" When Percival rolled his eyes at the man, Gwaine waggled his eyebrows at Merlin who sat near the fire, cutting bread.

"Nothing. The brute is massive Merlin and yet I still caught – OUCH!" Gwaine yelped, rubbing his head where the taller man had struck him with the carcass of another rabbit. He held the kill out to him, his usually peaceful face smug.

"Sorry, I was just trying to give you the only thing I caught. Must've hit you by accident." Gwaine narrowed his eyes, swiping the rabbit after a moment, not oblivious to the smothered snickers from the others as they tried to look busy doing something else.

"Giant ignoramus." He muttered as he handed Merlin the carcasses.

"What was that?" Percival asked blithely as Gwaine straightened.

"Nothing." Percival shrugged and pulled out his sword.

"Care for some practice? Or would you rather rest after hunting?"

In the rapidly darkening night, Gwaine's teeth gleamed brilliantly as he unsheathed his own sword.

"Why Sir Percival, I thought you'd never ask."

. . . . . . . .

By the time they finished eating, the tension had come back into their bodies. Leon was taking the first watch as the other settled in to try and rest, but it was clear they were on edge in the forest. There was no evidence found on their ride up of any kind of witch craft, but that had long before been known that a witch in these parts wouldn't just leave herself open to attack. Not in Arthur's kingdom.

Merlin chose to place his bedroll a suitable distance from the King's tent, close enough to see the shadow of Arthur as he settled into the blankets, but far enough that he wasn't in earshot if he whispered. To his left, Lancelot had already gone to sleep, the traveler in him trained to earn sleep wherever he could, for fear there wouldn't be a chance to later.

It took time, there in the forest, in the dead of night, with the forest silent and the fire crackling and popping, the only noise to accompany them, to fall asleep. Merlin spent the first hour of lying down, trying to stop jumping at every snap of the wood burning and to avoid analyzing the shadows that the flickering flames caused.

But soon, even his slowly drowsy state, Merlin felt the pull of sleep, his eyelids feeling heavy and resisted, his body feeling the unnaturalness of the slumber that threatened to overtake. With effort, he rolled over, fighting the urge to succumb and tried to pull himself towards Arthur's tent, seeing with a dull spike of fear, the gargantuan figure that hovered over his King's tent, tearing it apart with his bare hands.

"Ar...thur..." Merlin was half out of his bedroll, crawling towards him when he felt the end of a cane strike the middle of his back. His back spasmed once, and he could only watch, at the mercy of his own body, as the man grabbed Arthur's struggling form by the throat and threw him against the tree next to his tent. He dimly heard Arthur grunt in pain as he collapsed just out of arms reach, groaning and turning over in an effort to get up.

Merlin tried to speak, the only thing escaping being a garbled call which succesfully caught Arthur's attention. He took in Merlin's prone form, and glanced around the camp, where Merlin was sure he would see his unconscious Knights. From where he was lying, Merlin could see that whatever had affected them was now starting to cling to Arthur as well, the King's eyes were drooping despite his best efforts. The crunching in the snow to the left of Merlin's view alerted him to the fact that their attacker was now standing over him.

Arthur could see this as well, as some semblance of alertness came back into his eyes, the emotion in them could only be described as apprehension and he quickly outstretched a hand to Merlin, trying to reach the manservant's own outstretched hand, his fingers close but only barely brushing the very tips of the man's fingers. A sharp pain pierced through Merlin's side and he dully registered the fact that he had been kicked but the information barely mattered. He gasped in pain and looked up at his king, eyes meeting until the darkness surged forward with an ease that Merlin would have found frightening if he had the time to spare in thinking about it.

. . . . . . . .

"Merlin."

"Merlin. Merlin."

"For god's sake, Merlin, wake up!"

The first thing Merlin was aware of as he slowly regained consciousness, was the bone chilling frigidness of where they were. It seeped into him, freezing him from the inside out, he breathed out and found that he didn't need to open his eyes to know that wherever they were was damp and cold, some kind of underground dungeon then. He then became aware of his hands, bearing a dull ache from the cold, spasming where they touched the floor, bound in iron manacles around his wrists.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and found himself in a cell, seeing the front of it first, since he seemed to be propped up against the back wall. An experimental tug on his extremities told him that his ankles had been bound as well.

"Merlin."Feeling disoriented, Merlin blearily looked to his left, finding himself looking at all of the other Knight's and Arthur gazing at him through bars. He looked back into his own cell, at the slate gray stone that was covered in a thin sheet of ice, the temperature of it feeling like a fire of its own. "The way you're carrying on, you'd think you were the one who took a beating, not me." Arthur's voice was snide, but carried a hint of relief in it.

"Shut up, Princess, Merlin, mate, are you alright?" That was Gwaine, Merlin was sure, for some reason, his mind was taking some time to come out of the heavy fog it was in.

" Mm.. Why am I in my own cell?" His tongue felt heavy and dry as cotton. "Better yet, where are we?" He looked around, seeing the concerned looks on the faces of the others. The room they were being held in was round and dingy. It seemed to be made of stone, and cracks in the walls let in frigid air, there were torches on the walls emitting the weakest flames that barely illuminated the room. He could see that he had been put in a cell separate from the others, though to what end, Merlin wasn't sure.

The doors to their cells were heavily padlocked, and beyond it, in the sparse room, lay a stone bench, long enough to accommodate a man lying down. The bench was parallel to the cells, and one end, past Merlin's cell, pointed towards a door, through the cracks of which, they could tell was the exterior of the building in which they were being held, he could see the vast plains of snow outside, leading him to believe they had been carried up the mountain they were camping on.

"Oh my. Our guests are awake, and I haven't greeted them yet. Do pardon my manner's gentlemen." A sing song voice signaled the arrival of another person and Merlin saw all the Knights tense, hands instinctively going to their belts for their weapons, only to come up empty. The voice tutted at them.

"Oh I'm sorry. I took the liberty of having you relieved of your luggage, what with it being so burdensome and all." Merlin and the others suddenly saw a rack near the door, where their weapons were hung in a sack. The voice seemed to be getting closer, which meant, in Merlin's hazy mind, that the sorceress was going to reveal herself. He scrambled to his feet, willing the confusion away. He couldn't afford to be addled in the head when there was a powerful witch nearby, especially one that seemed to know their identities.

Whatever Merlin had been expecting, whoever he had thought would round the corner and enter the room, he wasn't prepared for the large, and stocky woman who appeared. She was tall, no taller than Percival, but still, that made up for a rather large woman, with long ice hair, so blonde it was white. She wore clothes of almost blood rouge, the tint of it bringing out the paleness of her own skin in violent relief.

Merlin watched her slink into the room, her movements measured and designed to threaten.

"What do you want?" Arthur kept his own voice calm. Years of fighting and being kept hostage numerous times made it so Arthur wasn't particularly worried. Merlin could hear the ease in his voice. No doubt already planning ways in which to overpower her and escape.

"Manners, Arthur Pendragon. Did your brute of a father teach you none?" Arthur's nostril's flared at the mention of the late King but refrained from responding to the baiting. He waited silently. Soon, the woman tired of the quiet and pouted, seemingly let down by Arthur's determination to keep a level head.

"Goodness, you're no fun. Then again, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree does it? Uther was no fun either." She snapped her fingers and the torches flared brighter, bathing the room in the warm glow, doing nothing for the actual temperature. She took in their appearance and sighed, her eyes flitting from Arthur's cell to Merlin's.

"Picus, darling. I told you to bring them to me. I didn't tell you to use the servant as target practice." Arthur looked at Merlin, seeing him for the first time in proper light and caught sight of Merlin's torso, exposed by his shirt which had ridden up in Merlin's haste to stand. On his left side, a great blooming purple bruise was beginning to shape up, He heard Leon let out a hiss of sympathy. A lumbering noise came from around the corner from which the witch had first appeared and Arthur recognized the large man as his assailant from before.

He was a tall, hulking man, his chest wide and shoulders steady. His hair was dark, a brown maybe, though the flickering lights made it difficult to know for sure. He wore black trousers and a white tunic, stained red near the neck and wrists, fresh red instead of dull brown. Merlin could tell it was blood, having washed similar stains out of Arthur's clothing just after battles. On his exposed chest, visible in the deep V of his neckline, was an embedded turquoise blue gem, unattached to any kind of string or chain. It was simply a part of him and whenever the woman spoke to him, it flickered, leading Merlin to suspect that it was connected to her, though the 'how' still eluded him.

"Apologies, Lady Circe, they...did not come quietly." Merlin swore he saw the woman smile at the statement.

"Well, no harm done I suppose." Circe pulled out a chair from a dark corner of the room, placing it in front of Arthur's cell, ignoring the stony expressions of the Knight's within and focusing on the King. She sat, crossing her legs, revealing the full expanse of the pale appendage and looked expectantly at the Arthur, as if she expected him to respond somehow to her display. When he didn't, her mouth curled into a self satisfied smirk and she pulled a wooden scepter out of her sleeve.

"Well, Arthur, you did ask what I wanted, so I suppose I shall tell you. I wondered why it was taking you so long, after all, I've been bagging the little darlings in the area for two months now. I thought maybe I'd chosen the wrong place, but then, your little patrol party came traipsing along, so naive, so innocent and I thought, well, I couldn't just let them leave without saying hello." The man behind her, Picus, handed her something, and Merlin felt, rather than saw the bristling amongst the men at the sight of the tattered piece of Camelot cloak in her hand, a small piece, from the section emblazoned with Camelot insignia.

Her tongue flicked out in a pointed tip to lap at the dried blood crusted on one edge. Her expression melted into one of bliss.

"Of course, there was the added bonus of having so many little birdies to play with. So I let one go. Just one mind you. Picus here does get ever so lonely up here." Her eyes took on a wicked gleam. "And hungry."

Merlin swallowed at the revolting imagery his mind was supplying him. Another gale of wind blew through their prison, and Merlin was unable to suppress the shivers that wracked through him. Circe handed the piece of cloak back to Picus, who seemed to gaze at it with reverence and a hint of something Merlin might have called sorrow if he had been paying more attention.

"What I want, Arthur Pendragon, is something only youcan give me." Arthur stood, in the middle of the cell, the Knights gathered around him protectively. Merlin himself arranged himself in the middle of his cell, fingers flexing under stress. His magic was there, crackling at the tips of his fingers, but Merlin was reluctant to use it unless there was no other way, and outing himself as a sorcerer in this situation was only likely to have him strung up on accusations of working with her, considering she had set up camp near his own home village. The warlock hadn't had the most practice and he wasn't sure he could do what he meant to do, so his only option was surprising their captors when they least suspected it.

"I want Excalibur."

There was a moment of silence after the woman's words. The notion so absurd to Arthur that he couldn't fathom what he was hearing. The way Leon shifted next to him made the King realize that the Knights didn't quite understand what the witch was talking about. Merlin made an effort to keep his face blank. It wasn't like he could tell them that the Lady of the Lake had it. That would lead to far too many questions. Questions he couldn't – wouldn't – answer.

"Excalibur? You want my sword?" Arthur scoffed, an action his interrogator did not like at all, as evidenced by the way her genial expression hardened minutely in the face of Arthur's scorn. The knights glanced at each other, unsure of why a witch would want a sword, especially when she could charm any sword of her choosing and still best them.

"You speak as if you had a choice, Sire." The word dripped with ill concealed sarcasm, though Merlin wasn't sure there was any attempt to conceal it at all. The manacles were chafing on his wrists due to his fidgeting, an unconscious tic, as he observed Picus standing stationary, eyes curiously vacant behind his mistress. Arthur shrugged his shoulders, his hands bound in front of him.

Gwaine sat down now that the objective of their imprisonment was clear, he knew they would be in here for a while. Most of these creeps that captured them in order to leverage information out of them tried to get them to reveal it by letting them stew in the cell or whatever rank hole they were kept in. He shot a look to Elyan who followed his lead and tugged Percival down, urging Leon and Lancelot to do the same.

"Well, you're out of luck. The sword disappeared, and I have literally no idea where it could be." There was a beat of silence at the nonchalant response from Arthur, who looked behind him to see his Knights sitting comfortably on the floor. Merlin had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the grin on the King's face as he settled down as well, his back propped up against the side of his cell that shared its wall with Merlin's cell. He knew very well Excalibur was, and had an inkling of what she might want with it, all the more reason of course, to withhold that information from the woman.

"You can keep us here for as long as you want, but I won't be telling you anything, lady." It was then that Merlin realized that perhaps egging on a woman who was responsible for the deaths of at least 2 dozen people was someone they probably shouldn't have taken lightly. She stiffened in her chair, sweeping her eyes over their company, from Elyan's lazing on the floor, to Leon's rigid cross legged seat on the floor to Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine looking entirely too at ease for people who should have been terrified to be at the mercy of a witch of her caliber.

She decided that she had been wholly too lax in her approach, that her hostages were making fools of her. Her face went blank. Well, they would soon fix that wouldn't they? By the time she was done with them, even insanity wouldn't save them from the fear she would inflict upon them. Not until they fell into death's sweet embrace would they escape her grasp and even then, she would be using her own kiss of death to send them to their ends, after all, no one ever said dying would be easy. What a ludicrous idea.

But first, the best fear was to use leverage, and here, she had only one source. The one person the King was desperately trying to protect by distracting her with his glib talk.

"Then it appears we are at a standstill, Your Highness." Arthur opened his bound hands in a gesture of unapologetic helplessness in response. Circe sighed and stood from her seat, fanning a hand out in an elegant gesture, calling Picus to her. She hooked a hand in the threadbare collar of his tunic and pulled him to her, whispering in his ear, curling her tongue around her words.

"Picus, you know what to do. Go get him." Merlin watched apprehensively as the mammoth man approached his cell to the growing concern of the men in the other cell. He instinctively shrunk back, pressing up against the back wall while Picus deftly unlocked his cell and strode in, his silhouette ominous and towering over Merlin, undoing the chains from the wall but leaving the manacles cuffed to his feet and wrists. Behind the shadow of the hulking giant's body, Merlin heard Circe speak again, talking to the King.

"Arthur, you ought to know what happens when you don't give me what I want. Whatever happens from here on out, it's on you. I gave you a chance to save him. I did warn you." Oh that did not sound good, Merlin thought with trepidation, trying his very best to not appear as scared as he was.

"Hello." Merlin offered weakly, his eyes darting over the man's frame and to the worried expressions on Leon's face at the back of the group in the next cell. Picus afforded him no response, only pausing minutely to peer at Merlin's frightened face, a small flicker of something like contrition passing over his expression, a sight Merlin wouldn't have believed if it weren't for the fact that he'd seen it himself.

All to quickly however, the moment passed and Picus grabbed the chains like a leash and yanked at them to make Merlin follow him out of the cell, stumbling to shuffle fast on his bound feet.

"Wait, wait!" Lancelot reached out through the iron bars of the cell with his tied hands, managing to fist them in Picus's shirt, halting his progress past them. Instinctively, Picus wrenched himself out of his hold, his eyes flashing a white gold and his mouth pulled back involuntarily in a snarl. Arthur let out a hoarse yelp, while the man's face seemed to melt into the form of a wolf covered in white fur, before flashing back to that of his own, shame marring his eyes before they hardened again. Lancelot's eyes had gone wide while Merlin's own mirrored him.

"What are you?" Elyan breathed out, the danger they were in suddenly seemed so much more charged with a different kind of threat. Their entire company had never encountered anything of this nature before.

"Tut – tut boys. I don't think you're in the position to be asking questions. Picus!" She said sharply, returning her attention to her henchman. "Don't dawdle. You remember what happened last time you dawdled don't you?" Merlin swore he saw a flash of pure hatred ghost over the henchman's face, then smooth, as he pulled the chain taut and sent Merlin stumbling toward him.

"But, I shall be kind and explain to you what Picus is. After all, his shall be the face you see last in your pitiful lives. It's an affliction of my own design you see. I call it,werewulf, or man-wolf. My lovely Picus here, can turn into a wolf at my bidding." Circe ran a hand affectionately down the werewolf's back, relishing in his stoic non-response to her touch.

Merlin was now standing next to the stone bench in front of the cells met Arthur's eyes, seeing the worry in his own eyes reflected in his King. All the knights were stood flush against the iron bars, every man trying to deduce a method of escape, their expressions growing dimmer as the possibilities shrunk with every passing second. He tried to smile, to indicate that whatever Circe was going to dish out, he could take. Of that he was fairly certain. Indeed, he was a sorcerer and apparently a powerful one at that. He could handle a low level witch couldn't he? If he could drive Morgana, Morgause and Nimueh away from the castle on numerous occasions, Circe would be no problem.

Right?

Next thing he knew, he was being pushed down on the stone bench roughly and all coherent thought flew from his mind, only to be gripped by a paralyzing fear. Above him he could only see the stony expanse of the ceiling, doming over them and the looming face of Circe smiling wickedly, Picus next to her, hefting an enormous pail of water and a thick wooly rag.

They set the pail down next to him and Picus dunked in the rag, drenching it and suddenly, Merlin could the dawning realization in Gwaine's eyes, Merlin's confidence faltering before them.

They were going to waterboard him.

"No!" The cry was a lance of fear straight in the sorcerer's heart, his inkling confirmed. Gwaine rattled the cell violently, panic distorting his face. "No! Leave him alone! He's just a servant, he doesn't have any information, he can't tell you anything!"

If only that were true. Merlin's mind supplied dryly amidst his mounting hysteria, fueled by Gwaine's horror stricken voice. Picus stiffly set a restraint around Merlin's head, made of metal, anchoring his head in one position, and making it so that he was now only able to hear the voices of Arthur and the others.

"Well, this is a trip down memory lane. Almost like being back in the stocks, isn't it, Arthur?" Merlin's dry attempt at humor fell flat in the face of his own fright, and Arthur ignored him in favor of trying to appeal to Circe's common sense, or at least try to divert her attention to avoid the waterboarding for as long as he could.

"Merlin, oh my god, wait – just – just wait, Circe, that's your name right? I've told you all I know, I swear."

Circe took the rag delicately from her henchman's gasp and wrung it once, the water running down her arms in rivulets, staining her dress darker.

"Oh my darling prisoners, you seem to think there's only one way to glean the truth," she set the rag over Merlin, smoothing it down to mirror every dip and curve of his face. Leon flinched seeing the outline of Merlin's mouth gape against the fabric, already gasping for breath under the water doused scrap of cloth.

"When in fact, there are many." Circe picked up a large bowl, and scooped up water, pouring it slowly over Merlin's head, concentrating where his mouth and nose were.

" **NO!** " Circe grinned, licking her lips, concentrating on the peak of Merlin's nose under the rag, delighting in his strangled breathing, feeling like she could see the stuttering of the boy's heart under the stress of the torture.

It was so delicious she thought she might faint.

Merlin's entire world was suddenly reduced to the feeling of the water suffocating him, feeling the acute burn in his lungs as water invaded them and the dull yells of his friends faded into the background, white noise in a world where pain was the only color and the only thing that he could see.

His mind hazily screamed at him to use his magic, to blast the witch into dust, to fight back, but Merlin's emotions were in full control, the panic and the absoluteterror of the sensation of drowning incapacitating him.

"Merlin! Merlin! Oh my god! Arthur, that bitch is killing him!"

"Circe, stop it! I told you the truth! I don't know where it is! Let him go, **please,** he's just a manservant!" Arthur yelled out, over Merlin's frightening gurgling and ineffectual thrashing under the onslaught of water. Percival was throwing himself against the cell lock, trying to use sheer body weight to jar the construction, Elyan was using his knowledge as blacksmith to discern the weakest point in his manacles and break out, but to no avail.

Circe didn't stop in her minstrations, reaching down only to refill her bowl and pour more water on to Merlin's face, the coughing from below doing nothing to assuage the damage the water was already doing to Merlin's lungs and nose.

"I warned you, Arthur. I told you what I wanted. If you're going to choose a sword over the life of your servant, then that's the choice you've made. If the boy dies, you'll have none but yourself to blame."

Arthur screamed in fury as Merlin's body wrenched from side to side, attempting to evade the torture. Picus stood behind his mistress, eyes vacant, though the wetness in his eyes belied him.

Soon their prison was echoing with the wails of its inhabitants, the Knights and Arthur bellowing for Merlin, knowing it was useless, that their screams weren't even reaching him, as his mind recoiled within itself to escape the reality in which it lived, a last bastion of defense for a battered psyche.

"Arthur, for god's sake! Just tell her what she wants to know!" Gwaine yelled, wrists raw from where he was wiggling to try to break out of them.

"I'm telling you I don't know! Merlin said the thing just disappeared! I just used the damn thing once! I haven't seen it since!" Gwaine let out a cry of frustration as Merlin's gargled gasping grew more frantic and his legs thrashed harder.

Under this admission, Arthur saw something snap in Circe's eyes. She stopped suddenly, ceasing in her torture of his manservant, whipping the rag off his face. Merlin's soaking wet face was pale white, the skin around his nose and mouth a dangerous blue. He gasped, drinking in the air hungrily, sucking it in, the breath's sounding like a death rattle.

"Merlin? Merlin, mate, talk to me. Are you alright?"

Merlin didn't answer, the wet coughs that wracked his body proving too much to bear and ensuring that Merlin was well beyond his ability to function apart from his body's desire to preserve itself.

"Hm. It seems that this isn't having the intended effect." Circe stood over Merlin's heaving body, thinking contemplatively.

"I will have you drawn and quartered, you abomination." The King snarled, fury covering every inch of his taut face, the hysteria of Merlin's near death simmering just under the surface of the anger. Circe was unmoved, staring at him, and then at Merlin, in intervals.

"Then I suppose I should take of this before you get the chance, hm?" She said cheekily, reaching a manicured hand up to grab Picus by the scruff of his neck and shoving him down onto his knees, like a disobedient hunting dog. She shook him roughly, and barked an order at him. It reverberated through the dungeon that they were ensconced in.

"Change." She didn't need to say anymore to him, as the turquoise gem embedded in his chest started to glow and his body seemed to distort and change until there was no longer a man but a white and grey wolf with the most startling white gold eyes, the gem still visible in the fluffy fur over his chest, the contrast between colors sharp and striking. There was somehow still a trace of the man he was in him, gazing at Merlin's tear streaked face in defeat.

The silence was deafening in which Merlin's mind was a shattering reflection of every fear he'd had since birth, every near death moment, every frightful encounter, every failure. His every teaching, all of his training was for naught, he remembered nothing and couldn't even if he tried, his mind a complete blank, covered and smothered by the immobilizing knowledge that he would die here and now, a prisoner to a filthy witch who tarnished the name of the magic he held dear to him and who would kill his King while he lay broken at her feet.

The expression didn't change even as Circe squeezed his neck tighter under her hand , and automatically, the wolf's jaw opened and snapped shut over Merlin's exposed neck. An almighty bang dimly registered in Merlin's hearing, his entire experience now focused on the intense burning sensation coursing through his body.

Lancelot watched in revulsion as Merlin's body bowed unnaturally in its restraints, his skin going paler than he thought possible, a horrible shriek of pain emanating from his mouth in a wail that made their hair stand on end. The mountain they were on rumbled under the supernatural noise, and for the first time since their brief acquaintance, Circe may have looked momentarily unnerved.

She removed the head restraints when Merlin finally stopped convulsing and patted Picus lightly on the head to allow him to remove his hold on the boy. He slowly opened his jaw and as gently as he could withdrew his canines, lapping at them to remove the blood seeping from the puncture wounds. It was a perverse mockery of the act of nursing a wound.

"Oh god." Elyan croaked, unable to look away from Merlin's eerily still form, the manservant's blue eyes still open.

"Merlin." Gwaine reached his bound arms out through the bars, voice breaking in sorrow. Merlin's chest was now barely rising. Arthur stared dumbly at the picture in front of him. Somehow the first thought to course through his mind was what would he tell Hunith? Gaius? Gwenivere? Oh god. He'd killed Merlin. He was the reason Merlin was going to die.

Circe then stepped up to Merlin, ignoring the contained growling of the Knights, ordering her to step away from their comrade. She pressed her lips to his chest, pulling his shirt down some to open the burned expanse of his skin to her. In the place of her kiss, a gem not unlike the one that adorned Picus formed, a crystal of such clarity that it shone bright even in the orange glow of the torchlight. Merlin's still form hadn't moved yet, stony in its stiffness.

Then a low groan echoed through the chambers, and Arthur fell back in shock when Merlin's body began to ripple, the image of it shimmering and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Then he started to morph and their cries of mourning changed into shouts of hope and then horror as they realized that Merlin was changing. Changing just like Picus.

Within seconds, Arthur found himself looking at a wolf darker than night, with piercing ice blue eyes, the expanse of him huge and intimidating. Circe looked more pleased with herself than Arthur had yet to see her. His blood coursed with unrivalled rage, looking at the smug look of satisfaction.

"You bitch."

She looked up at him while stroking Merlin's fur as he struggled to lay his head in her lap, quirking an eyebrow.

"He's far bigger than I thought he would be. I was told some grew bigger depending on their character, but this,this is better than I could have hoped for." She hugged Merlin, carding her fingers through the fur on his body.

"You deserve a fate worse than death." Lancelot breathed through the cell bars, his voice quiet but the expression he wore left little to doubt of his intentions should he ever find himself in the position to exact revenge.

The witch used her magic, waving a hand over Merlin's manacles to remove them and pushed him to his feet, watching him stagger like a newborn calf. She whistled lightly and Merlin's ears flattened, listening intently to his master, the gem nestled in his fur glowing incandescently at her words.

"Time for dinner sweetie."

Hesitation colored their faces as they caught onto how Circe planned to dispose of them. Merlin's monstrous form approached their cell, easily slipping inside through the magic he now possessed as a beast. He was easily as tall as Percival, which meant he towered over Arthur and at least 3 times the length of a regular wolf. As it was, the beast that had been his manservant was now standing in front of him, crowding them into a corner with his sheer size. His muzzle was scant centimeters from Arthur's face, who was breathing quietly and keeping as still as possible.

"Merlin." Arthur would have bet the remainder of his probably short life that recognition darted through those ice blue eyes.

"Merlin. It's us." The other Knights spoke softly, following Arthur's lead when he slowly extended a hand, moving in increments so slow that they couldn't even be sure they were actually moving.

"What are you doing, you good for nothing, animal?! I gave you an order!" Circe's impatient voice lanced through the quiet of their exhange.

They barely had time to register Merlin's turn and exit and from the cell before he was advancing on Circe and Picus, who remained in his wolf form.

Circe's countenence decidedly less confident than it had been previously.

"Merlin. I command you to cease!" She held her hand out imperiously, faltering when it seemed to only stop him for a few seconds. It was clear that whatever hold she had on him had no effect. Circe then ordered Picus to the forefront.

"Take care of him! Clearly he was a mistake." Picus looked practically diminutive in size, but Lancelot worried that experience would overwhelm the sorcerer. He needn't have worried however, because nearly as soon as Picus stood in Merlin's way, Merlin reached a massve paw out and pressed down on his head, forcing him into submission, right in front of Circe's dumbfounded face.

Then, in a split second, he swung the same paw back and batted the smaller beast harshly into the wall, a sickening crunch resonating in the air. Picus lay unmoving, a broken heap on the floor, his form transforming into that of a human man, significantly smaller than he had been before. At this moment, Merlin whipped around, lurching forward to corner the witch, blocking her exit from the room with his body.

Circe's eyes were wide with fear when Merlin brought his baleful eyes flush to her face, sniffing the air around her and tasting the terror.

"S-stop!" Gone was the self assurance, and all that remained was complete fright. Merlin advanced.

"Halt!" She tried to be firm, holding a hand out to stop him, touching his wet eyes studied his, and as she did, Gwaine could see the second in which she came to some kind of revelation. Circe fell back weakly against the wall behind her and Arthur was sure they were communicating somehow.

"Emrys." She whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Her expression became pleading, and she fell to her knees in a position of supplication. "Oh please, please.I didn't know! Forgive me - !"

Merlin, how much of his mind was his own, Arthur couldn't be sure, paused and then with deadly force shot forward and snapped his jaws tightly over her body. The jewel on his chest cracked, though it did nothing to dull the shine from it.

Her scream echoed through the cavern and they couldn't help but flinch, even for the monster that this woman was. Merlin wrung her body back and forth until the noise ceased. He then opened his mouth and let his fractured carcass land on that of Picus.

Merlin turned and focused on the group huddled in the cell, looking at him in terror. The black wolf suddenly stumbled, falling to the ground, panting in exertion. He reared his head back and howled, shrill and loud, his blood stained teeth visible in the action. Almost immediately, the mountain rumbled again with the sound of snow falling.

Like an avalanche.

Merlin's pricked at the sound, and his eyes swiveled back to the Knights. They watched in shock as Merlin's body rapidly shrunk, coming back to his human form, the crystal still firmly affixed in place, though cracked. His clothes were shredded, all that remained of them were the mostly tattered remains of Merlin's trousers, slung low on his hips.

He ignored their cries of joy, and staggered to wrench the cage open, using brute strength to tear the entire front open. There was the sounds of more thundering, the avalanche more likely to hit at any moment.

Gwaine launched himself at the manservant, Lancelot following suit.

"Merlin! Mate, I thought we'd lost you!" Merlin managed a weak smile in the face of Gwaine's relief, still winded. Elyan and Leon clapped him on his bare back and Percival offered him a hand, still not close enough to Merlin to warrant the physicality of response as the others. Arthur gaped at him like he'd seen a ghost. He had been so close to dying.

"I thought - " He gasped again, through the exhaustion of trying to keep the wolf form at bay. It howled inside him, throwing itself against his own defenses, trying to take control. "I was dead too. But, we have to hurry, we have to open that door to escape that avalanche or we'll be trapped inside." Merlin shouldered past the group to the wooden door reinforced with iron and lifted it on either side, tearing it off its hinges, the metal protesting as he did so. Only he knew that what they were hearing wasn't the sound of an avalanche, but the sound of the castle they were in collapsing.

They whooped as the cold night air whipped into the room, bringing with it gales of ice. The rumbling of the snow turned into a spray of snow that showered over the entryway. Merlin gestured towards the exit urgently.

"Now!" They grabbed their weapons off the rack, missing Merlin doubling over in pain as his body fought the transformation. It was a losing battle, the beast within, gaining victory through the thick black hair that was sprouting over his arms.

The company sprinted through the doors as debris and stones began to rain down from the roof.

"Hurry you lot! It's not an avalanche, the whole bloody place is coming down!" Arthur looked as if he was going to say something to Merlin but in light of the situation decided against it. He ran outside and turned to watch the building begin to come down, when he looked back and saw that Merlin had yet to exit.

Panic welled up within him as he took in Merlin's form, bent in half, hands clutching his head, looking more beast than man.

"Merlin!" He screamed, his yell attracting the attention of the others. Gwaine's cry of grief was drowned out as the castle began to come down. "Merlin! What the hell are you doing?!"

His manservant looked at him ruefully, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." He wheezed, his eyes apologetic. "I can't Arthur, you know that. I'm not – not human. Not anymore. I'm barely keeping myself together right now." He swallowed, and Arthur saw his eyes were no longer deep blue but the color of ice, frigid and cold.

There was a resounding crash and a boulder missed him by sheer centimeters only by Percival's quick thinking.

"Go!" Merlin pushed the two of them back and seconds later, amidst Arthur's screams of rage, the entrance collapsed, a wave of snow and ice pushing them far back.

Soon, the castle was no longer visible. Buried entirely.

Arthur and the Knight's had been knocked off of their feet by the impact. All they could do was stare at the spot where Merlin had stood. It was silent, so silent that the King thought he might go mad. Hours later they trudged back to the foot of the mountain, where their horses remained tethered where they had left them.

At their heels, the sound of a lonely wolf howling followed them all the way back to Camelot.


	2. A Legend Re-Written

**AN:** So, I've come back to this, because I guess I was feeling angsty aha.  
I received phenomenal comments by you guys about this one (and some rather threatening PMs to continue it haha).  
To say that I was floored is an understatement in the least. I recently went through a bit of a tough time (my dog was killed) and reading comments like that cheered me up and I realized my creativity, my writing is what helps the most.  
So here I am.  
Hopefully you like the second chapter. Leave me a comment if you like it ! :)

 **Chapter 2: A Legend Re-Written**

 _{"And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief" - William Cullen Bryant}_

The silence in the aftermath of the collapse was deafening. Where Merlin had stood seconds before, in pain and in resignation, was now indecipherable from the snowy wasteland surrounding them. Arthur knelt on the ground, having been pulled back from the entrance by Percival's strong grip. He stared blankly at the broken heap of stone and snow in front of him, the comprehension evading him.

The others around him were silent. There weren't words that could adequately fill the space and there was no one willing to attempt it. Suddenly, Arthur shot into action, darting forward, still on his knees and scrabbling at the frozen ground with his bare hands, now beginning to pinken dangerously in the frosty temperatures of the mountain.

"No no no no _no_." Arthur muttered, the words growing more frenzied the longer he clawed at the snow, struggling to get up and forward and stumbling in the process. "No. _No._ NO. Merlin. Merlin? _Merlin!"_ The last was said with such emotion that Lancelot could do little else other than look away. Gwaine hadn't moved since the mountain had come down, Elyan was softly speaking to him, trying to draw him out, leaving Lancelot, Percival, and Leon to deal with their King.

Arthur shoved a large boulder from the entrance away with the strength of pure emotion, the expression on his face quickly morphing into something that the others hadn't seen before. The movement caused the other rocks to move from their positions and come raining down in a minor slide. One clipped Arthur in the head, opening a gash on the left side of his head, staining the gold hair crimson, but he paid it no mind, continuing to scratch at the stones until his fingers were starting to become bloody.

Leon moved forward hesitantly, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off in his haste to continue with his efforts. Leon took a critical look at the situation and sighed. He grabbed at the King again, this time more forcefully.

"Sire -"

"Let go - "

"Sire, pl-"

"I _said_ unhand me!" Leon firmly pulled Arthur away from the wall of stones, expertly ducking from the blows that Arthur was inelegantly trying to land on his assailant. Nevertheless, the knight kept a strong grip on his struggling armful.

"It's futile, Your Highness, he would have never have survived - "

" _I said LET GO! I have to save him! He could be in there !"_

"He won't - "

"I can't leave him alone - "

" _You cannot stay!"_ Leon began to drag him down the mountains, with the others following him, all of them casting glances back to the collapsed castle. They knew it was useless to attempt to dig out the place by themselves, their best bet would be to return with reinforcements, hoping that Merlin would somehow keep himself alive – _if_ he was alive.

"I'll die here if I have to ! I'm _NOT_ leaving without him!"

"You must!"

"Why can't you see that _I can't leave?!"_

"And then what becomes of Camelot?! If you perish here, in the cold, like a beast on the mountains, what will become of Camelot, heirless and defenseless against her enemies?! The Kingdom your ancestors protected _on threat of their lives?"_

The wind howled through, cutting through cloth and skin, chilling them to the bones. Distantly they could hear the bugles of Ealdor, signaling the beginnings of a blizzard and the warning to find shelter urgently.

The mention of Camelot caused Arthur to stop fighting against Leon's hold. He slumped against the man, whose back was towards their prison, though he faced it.

"I killed him."

"We don't know that he's dead yet, Sire."

"If we don't return by sun up tomorrow, he will be." Some vestiges of Arthur's logical sense finally shone through the hysteria of moments earlier.

It wasn't until Leon had managed to drag Arthur more than halfway down the mountain that they first heard it. Half frozen as the blizzaerd picked up and the wind numbing their extremities, a low, mournful whine echoed through the mountain, freezing them to the spot and chilling them to the core. There was something about the sound that was so _injured._ They were shocked still, the sound filling the snow covered forest almost unbearable.

Gwaine and Arthur, half mad with hope and fear, turned back only to be held back by Leon and Percival, who looked rather shaken themselves.

"I know, Sire. I can hear it, but we don't have any proof that it's him, and in this weather, going back there means suicide. We must return to Camelot _now._ If he is alive, we must return to the kingdom, bring more soldiers and _properly_ search for Merlin. _"_

It was the first time anyone had said his name since the Castle had collapsed, and the name was already feeling foreign to him. He couldn't shake the last image he had of the man, bare chested and eyes flashing from human to feral constantly and in consistent pain. What were the chances that the servant had survived? Would he want to be rescued even if he had? He was caught between man and beast, neither one or the other. Would he not wish for death? What if he was rescued and the man wanted nothing more than death? Would Arthur be his curse or his savior?

There was another moment of silence as the King visibly fought with himself. He couldn't fathom the thought of continuing to Camelot, the very act feeling like a betrayal, but he could also no longer trust his own judgment. If he were to continue like this, it would be as Leon said, they would perish in the cold and Camelot would be left vulnerable.

In the end, Gwaine made the decision for them. He turned to the direction of Ealdor, and listlessly began to walk.

* * *

Normally, the sight of Camelot's turrets rising above the horizon never failed to inspire a sense of pride in the King whenever he approached his Kingdom. This time however, it only made his heart heavier. He dreaded the idea of having to tell Gaius what had happened, even if there was a slight chance they would find Merlin alive when they went back.

His expression firm, he decided that he would stay only long enough to switch horses and gather more supplies before heading back out to rescue his manservant.

The rest of the Knights had been subdued the entire trip back, each lost in their own thoughts. They had been expecting a fight, even maybe to experience a few casualties, such was the fate of a Knight, but no one had considered the genuine risk their quests placed on the servants they brought along. Merlin had been nothing but a servant boy, a mouthy but efficient one.

Now, he was most likely lying dead under a pile of rocks, alone in a cavernous mountain with no one but the beasts to keep him company.

It was with somber faces that they rode up to the castle, their eyes set and mouths grim. Gwenievere, having received word that the King had arrived, was waiting at the front steps of the palace, ready to take his things from him.

It took her less then four seconds to realize something had gone horribly wrong. Lancelot could see her eyes rove over their party and immediately realize that they were returning short of one person. She looked up at the King as he ascended the stairs.

"Where's Merlin?" The question was slightly alarmed, and when she received no response, she grabbed at Arthur's arm.

"Arthur. _Where's_ Merlin?" If there was one thing that Arthur could wish he could forget, it would have been the look of utter devastation on Gwen's face and of that on the face of his Royal Physician.

Arthur looked at her, and for the briefest moment, Gwenivere couldn't see anything but crippling fear, and stumbled back at the intensity of it. She looked to Elyan and Lancelot next as the others passed.

"No." It was barely a whisper, but Gwenievere didn't need much else to understand what the solemn looks of the Knights meant. If Merlin was alive they would be in a flurry to rescue him, but to be this sombre, something far out of the realm of the regular must have happened.

The last of the Knights filed past into the castle, leaving Gwenivere with Gaius, both of whom just stood there in shock. Suddenly, there were shouts and the clanging of armor coming off the stone floor inside. Gaius, though shaken managed to turn and amble inside, deciding to deal with what he could first. Gwen followed him as well, hitching up her skirts and running when she caught sight of Arthur and his entire company of Knights, collapsed and struggling to move. Arthur was the most stubborn of the lot, brought to his knees but refusing to collapse, despite the sweat pouring off his brow from the effort.

"Sire!" The castle guards and maids were beside themselves while Gaius knelt by each of them, trying to determine their symptoms. Gwenivere could see that they were struggling to breathe, the skin becoming pale in comparison and the perspiration dampening their hair.

"What's going on Gaius?"

"This is magic. Terrible magic."

"Are you saying someone's enchanted them?"

"No, I think they were exposed to it, a bit like inhaling pipe smoke for too long, I'd wager. We've got to get them into their chambers. They must rest to recover." At that, Arthur's hand shot out to grip painfully onto Gaius's though the old man didn't flinch in the slightest.

"No-No. I can't – Must get to the mountains – Merlin -" Gaius wiped his eyes, rubbing at the tears that swam unshed at the mention of the young man, unsure of what to say. At this point, a man, from what Gaius could tell, Leon's second in command leaned down to reassure the King.

"Fret not, Sire. We shall set out right now, to retrieve your manservant."

All Arthur could remember after that was mumbling the directions to the castle ruins and then slipping into fitful unconsciousness.

* * *

When the King next woke, it was as if his body was made of stone. There was a moment of insanity where he expected the voice of Merlin to come floating down next to his ear, nagging him for letting himself get manhandled by a measly witch. Of course that was when he remembered that he needed to go back, to that mountain, to the infernal prison that had stolen his manservant from him.

Though he couldn't really open his eyes, or generally move, Arthur struggled to move, to sit up, only to find that his attempts to do so were quickly negated by a pair of hands pushing him back down into the bed, (his own he presumed).

"Ler-let go – gotta fin- got to find Mer – Merlin."

"Sire -"

"Gaius?" Arthur managed to pry his eyes open a smidge, enough to see the physician sat by his bedside, with Gwenivere hovering anxiously behind him. The man gave him a small smile, though the King could see that he was haggard, with a few days of hair growing from his chin. The sight gave him pause.

"How long - " God's his voice was ruined.

"3 days, Sire. You have been unconscious for 3 days, Arthur. The best I can guess is that you were exposed to some significantly powerful and _evil_ magic. It left a mark on your bodies, you and your Knights. Those that are not used to living around beings of magic cannot defend themselves against the toll it takes on the human body. It's something like a very bad drinking binge. Except that this one can kill you."

Magic users. His mind went blank, remembering everything that had happened and his hand tightened on the bed clothes.

"My Knights, what happened -?" A powerful bout of coughing wracked him then, stealing the breaths from his lungs and rendering him helpless. Gaius handed him a tumbler full of lukewarm water, which he gulped down greedily, letting it coat his parched throat in warmth.

"Your Knights are no worse off than you, my boy. They too are receiving care from the other maids, under my orders."

Arthur put the cup down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, finally noticed the soldier stood uncomfortably in the corner of his chambers, his shoulders stiff and his eyes unwittingly betraying the anxiety within. Clearly whatever he had to say wasn't good.

"What is it?" He asked bluntly. Or as bluntly as he could, seeing as he was laid out on his bed like home weakling. He should be out there, in the blizzarding snow he could see swirling past his window, searching for his manservant.

The man jumped, at being so abruptly addressed. After ascertaining that the King was indeed speaking to him, he hesitantly came forward. When he got close enough, Arthur looked at him expectantly, an eyebrow quirked in frustration.

The man cleared his throat and seemed to steel himself.

"Apologies, Sire, for disturbing you. I was – I am -"

" _Get on with it."_

"Of course Sire." The man gulped again. "I am Sir Bors, I went out with the company of Sir Lamorak, to see if we could find the servan -" One look from Arthur had Lamorak hasitly amending his words. "To see if we could find Merlin."

The change to the King's face was instantaneous. It hadn't changed at all, but the pure naked _hope_ that shone in his eyes was disarming and the Knight quickly said a prayer to the Gods to spare his soul.

He strode to the bed, forcing himself to be as brave as he could be. He had been warned that the King was particularly tetchy when it came to his manservant, though no one could really fathom why.

Lamorak hesitated only slightly before bringing his clenched fist forward and opening it to show the bloody red kerchief within. Arthur's blood ran cold at sight, his heart lurching, the square piece of clothing was folded in half, creating a triangle, and he could spy something within the folds. Reaching out a trembling hand, some part of him noticing the revolting contrast of his clean white skin to the muddy rust iron color of the kerchief, soaked in blood.

 _Merlin's blood_ , his mind helpfully supplied.

The King couldn't fathom how truly terrified he was now, in this moment. All he had to do was open the fold and yet his hand only hovered, frightened, above it. He forced himself forward, to quickly flip it open and see, a thin shard of crystal, about as long as his thumb, one half caked in dried blood, resting in the middle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gaius close his eyes in grief, his throat bobbing with the restraint it took to not cry, and Gwen, a hand over her mouth, horrified. He quickly grabbed the kerchief, clenching it in his fist, his breaths becoming labored.

"Arthur - " Gwenivere tried to rest her hand on his shoulder only to find it shrugged off.

"Get out."

"Wha - "

"Leave." His arm tensed hand over the cloth in his hand, the tendons stretched impossibly.

"Sire -"

 _"I SAID GET OUT!"_ Arthur roared, flinging his still half full tumblr at the men at the end of his bed, who all took one look at the distressed man in bed, and turned tail, running out the doors of his chambers. Gaius and Gwenivere soon followed, sending nervous looks his way as he flopped back on to the bed, throwing the arm that held the kerchief over his eyes.

A dry sob escaped his throat, making itself known despite the King's desperate attempts to shove it down. His body shook with unexpressed tears, tears streaming down his face. He didn't understand himself why he was reacting this way, but something inside him just seemed to _break_ at the realization that Merlin was _dead._ The young King wrenched the covers off of himself and staggered to the table placed next to the fireplace, already stacked high in his 4 day absence from the castle's courts. The sight only enraged him more as he picked up the lot and threw it into the fireplace, letting out a muted grunt of grief as he did so.

Then he noticed the threadbare shirt, sitting folded neatly over the back of the chair placed near Arthur's wash tub. He remembered that Merlin had sat there just the night before they had left, mending it while the boy had incessantly chattered on about Lancelot was definitely trying to woo Gwenivere and his strange realization that it no longer bothered Arthur the way it once had. He lunged toward the shirt, letting out an ungodly yell of rage and sorrow, throwing it as well into the fire, only belatedly realizing that he'd thrown in the kerchief in as well.

" _No_!" The sound was barely recognizable, raw from disuse and choked with an emotion more striking than he had felt when his Father passed. Arthur scrambled to the fire, haphazardly digging in the glowing embers, for the cloth and the shard of crystal, now so hot from just a moment in the heat, that the blood caked on was cracking and almost liquefying again.

The young King's hands were properly singed by time he managed to pull them out, slumping to the floor in defeat, the shard and the kerchief strewn across the floor. Somehow, the King couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like, to be crushed under the weight of ice, stone and snow.

It then dawned on him, finally, that Merlin, the manservant, the errand boy, the apprentice, Merlin the _friend_ , had died. He would never again wake Arthur up in the morning, he would never mumble snide insults when he thought the King wasn't listening and he would no longer talk back to him. He would never talk again.

The King, who'd resolved to be a man when he took the throne, the one who'd promised his courts and his people that he would never be weak, that he would never bow to despair, lay down on the rug before the blazing fires of his fireplace and sobbed.

Once again he was bereft of that which made him whole.

* * *

In the following week, once the King was released from bed rest, if anyone was aware of a new accessory of the King's, a red kerchief tied tightly to his wrist, they knew better than to mention it.

If they noticed how he kept it close to his heart when he talked, it was never addressed.

If they noticed that it was never removed, it was ignored.

If it was noticed that he occasionally clamped a hand around it when stressed, no one breathed a word.

After all, it was customary to wear an item of someone beloved.

* * *

Elsewhere, in a mountain, in a cold so deep it became painful, in a land so unforgiving one could break from the slightest misstep, something occurred. No one would know, in the years to follow, that this simple shift, could lead to a new era.

To a new time.

To a new Albion.

And all it took was _one_ moment for a legend to change.

 _Merlin woke up._


	3. Lost

A/N: Helllllloooooooooooo. Here's chapter 3 my lovelies! Please review, comment, favorite and follow and _please_ tell me what you think :)

Chapter 3: Lost

{"Grief is the price we pay for love" - Queen Elizabeth II}

Pain wasn't new to Merlin, he'd been tortured before, and all with the very imminent threat of death staring him in the face.

But this? What he felt now?

Merlin was wishing for death with a fervor he'd never experienced before. He wanted to die, to cease existing, to rather feel oblivion than to endure another second of this.

He had no idea what was happening to him, and as he blinked his eyes open, squinting despite the non-existent light in the cave, coming out from his own unconsciousness, Merlin realized he had no idea how long he'd been out. The pain in his body made it impossible to even considering moving let own get his bearings. It felt as if a hot coil had replaced his bones, sending fire coursing through his body, and within that pain there was a part of him, the constantly fought him. He could feel it vividly, snarling and growling inside, struggling to get out against the constraints of Merlin's own mind. It exhausted him and tortured him, not only to struggle to stay alive to fight to keep his mind his own. The teeth in his mouth kept lengthening and shrinking as did the nails on his fingers and toes which carried with it a kind of torment of its own, life hot metal piercing flesh. Finally, he could take the agony no more, and fitfully fell unconscious once more.

When his eyes fluttered open a second time, Merlin was lying in a pool of blood, evidently his own, if the appearance of his mangled wrists was anything to go by. The pain had subsided to a dull ache, but the beast from earlier remained where it had been earlier, pressing against Merlin's psyche

Nonetheless, he pressed on now finding it somewhat more doable to think clearly as lay on the ground, feeling the grounding sting in his wounded wrists staring at the stone ceiling above him.

Was he dead? He couldn't be, he was bleeding. But then how long had it been since he'd been passed out? Minutes? Hours? Days? Hang on, I'm bleeding, I should be trying to fix that before I die of blood loss. Merlin had always that it was funny to consider himself immortal when simple wounds could technically kill him. It appeared he wasn't technically immortal, just that he didn't appear to follow the general life expectancy rate of others. So long as nothing tried to do him in, he'd go on living. Perhaps until the end of time itself.

Merlin stumbled to his feet, finding balancing to be a little out of his skill repertoire as the pounding in his head grew. He nearly fell twice, scrambling with gross uncoordination for the shelves and counters, consequently shattering plates, vials and knocking books off as he fought to center himself. It was hard enough to attempt to fix his balance but what was worse was his body's returning penchant for being unable to remain in his own form. The process itself was not as painful as before but still, he could distinctly feel the claws shrinking and growing on his hands and feet, scraping uncomfortably on the floor and walls as well as his own canines elongating to the point that they poked out of his mouth, dripping saliva. His vision kept blurring and changing, disorienting him and making it nearly impossible to move in a steady manner.

All too suddenly, Merlin felt a sensation in his gut that knifed through him, nearly knocking him to his knees from the intensity. He gasped for breath, doubled over as the hunger threatened to overtake him, coming in waves so large that Merlin was fighting for control under the onslaught of the primal need to satiate the hunger. The next wave of hunger was so strong that Merlin needed to use both hands to prop himself up in his kneeling state, and he belatedly realized that he was salivating to the point that puddles of it were gathering on the floor mixing grotesquely with his own blood.

As he watched, helpless, Merlin saw the transformation push through to completion, hearing his ragged breathing turn into the beastial panting of the wolf. The switch, however, only served to make the hunger all the more crippling, making him dizzy with its ferocity. His body continued to grow until even the wide cavernous room he was in felt cramped for him and to his own mounting horror, and against his fighting will, Merlin could feel himself shuffle towards the prone corpses of Circe and her minion. The sorcerer tried his utmost to resist, to divest himself of the beast he had become but it was no use, the creature had succeeded in pushing Merlin into the farthest recesses of his mind, cowering in fear.

In utter agony, the young warlock felt something within him give completely and his mind went blissfully silent, sinking into oblivion.

When he regained consciousness sometime later, Merlin was aware of a feeling of fullness and as he opened his eyes, he realized that he crouched in a pool of congealed blood. A feeling of utter revulsion engulfed him as he took in the ravaged forms of his former captors, gagging as he scrambled away as fast as he could, backwards, until his bare back collided with the rough, cold, stone walls of the cave,. His human form not all that different from the primal one he had become earlier, as his bare chested body, now considerably larger, exerted all the effort it could to keep itself as far away as it could from the devastation of the beings that lay before him. Merlin was suddenly too aware of his own breathing, ragged and strained, and ultimately lost the fight against his gag reflex, vomiting with such force. Chest heaving with the effort of it all, Merlin's eyes widened in horror when his eyes landed on a partially digested bone in his sick. All too soon, Merlin was retching again, tears streaming down his face, as he suddenly understood a truth he not yet confronted.

He was completely and utterly alone.

In the hours that he was sure had gone by, no one had come to look for him, and if they had, they clearly had not found him. Even if they had found him, Merlin was in no state to go back to Camelot. This new creature he had become, this beast that could not resist the meal of human flesh in the face of hunger, this thing he had become, he could not let those he loved see him in such a wretched way. Merlin slammed his head against the wall in futile anger and sorrow.

No more would Arthur come wielding his sword and yelling his name. No more would he stand at his King's side, vanquishing enemies to the far corners of the Kingdom. Merlin was now a prisoner unto himself.

Living as an immortal man-beast. The were-wulf within that Circe had forcibly thrust upon him that wound chase him, clawing at his heels as he fought to outrace it for an eternity.

Forced, in the end, to live, when death would have been the sweetest of releases.

. . . .

Three Years Later

. . . .

"My Lord. My Lord? My Lord!"

Arthur found himself jolted out of his thought by the maternal woman standing next to his throne, holding a tray of pasties and wearing an expression of quiet concern. For a split second, the King was struck dumb as he took in the wide smile, and familiar jet black hair, until he realized that she was waiting for a response, tapping her foot expectantly.

"Ah, my apologies Lady Hunith, I was thinking and didn't hear you speak." He smiled at her, glad to see her timidly smile back at him.

"Sire, you really shouldn't call me that," Hunith looked around furtively as if afraid someone would overhear them. "Just Hunith is fine. I don't want anyone thinking I'm getting lofty ideas just because you brought me here from Ealdor."

Arthur stood from the throne, stretching and wincing as his bones cracked audibly as a result of his sitting for extended periods of time. He grinned when Hunith frowned and tsk'd at the noise, handing him a pasty to eat.

"Honestly, they're going to drive you to an early grave they are. Don't they know you have more important things to do than decide which of the two town drunkards are more drunk so they'll win the village betting pot?"

Arthur couldn't help but snort a little at that. Clearly she had been watching the morning audiences closely. He could see now where Merlin had developed his habits, he certainly was his mother's son.

"That's the job of a King, I suppose no matter how inconsequential, it is my duty as their King to hear them and resolve it if possible. As for the name by which I address you, Lady Hunith, I;m pretty sure someone told me I was King around here." He pointed cheekily to himself as he munched on the pasty, now half way through. "Which means, I get to call you whatever I very well please. In regards to the others," Arthur gestured around the big empty hall, "let them talk. You are Merlin's mother and with him -"

The mood suddenly became quiet and Arthur finished the pasty silently before continuing, looking down and clenching his hand around the red kerchief wrapped tightly around his wrist in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.

"With Merlin gone, it is my job to make sure that you are safe Lady Hunith and you were not safe in Ealdor. So let them say what they will, you and I are aware of what is the truth."

Hunith took to following Arthur as they moved from the Great Hall to his chambers in the upper floors of the palace.

"I am aware of that Sire, still you must remember, there are images that must be kept and it must look strange to others that you specifically came to my village and brought me here to fill the empty post at your side."

Arthur had a hard time looking Hunith in the face as she said the words, choosing to focus on the sunlight streaming through his chamber windows and unwillingly remembering that day, three years ago, 4 months after initially informing Hunith of her son's death. He still recalled the overwhelming grief that caused Hunith to crumple to the ground like paper, pale as snow in disbelief and screaming as she pounded weakly on Arthur's chest that he should have protected Merlin, should have saved him, should have brought him home. It unnerved him, hearing those wails and sobs, recognizing the sounds of grief as remarkably similar to his own. Arthur had been dry-eyed then, knowing that if he allowed himself to fall a second time, he wouldn't have the strength to stand again. And he couldn't do that, not as Camelot's King, not as Merlin's friend and not in front of Merlin's mother.

It hadn't occurred to him after that, the guilt of it persisting in keeping him away from thought Merlin's mother, alone in the world after the passing of both husband and son, to check up on her, until Percival had suggested it, expressing concern since Merlin had mentioned in passing that his mother was not well received in the village she lived in. Arthur knew it had something to do with the fact that though Merlin had a father who he referred to as his mother's husband, the two had not been legally wed.

So off they had set to visit Merlin's mother in the tiny village of Ealdor, nestled in the base of the mountains that had taken Merlin from him in the tail end of the winter season. What had awaited them was something Arthur had not even considered possible. Hunith had been harassed verbally and physically as she went simply to get water from the well on the right of her own tiny home.

His blood boiled as he watched her resiliently take the pelting she received, scraps of waste and dung hitting her squarely in the back and on the temple of her head. Before anyone had a chance to process what was truly happening, Gwaine had alighted off his horse, furious.

"How dare you?"

The sheer volume of his words and his sudden appearance caused the villagers to halt their derisive name calling, to stand still in surprise at the influx of visitors to their homes.

The man who had thrown the scraps bellowed back at them to identify themselves and quite abruptly found himself facing the point of Gwaine's sword.

But Arthur had paid no mind, instead hopping off his own steed to use his crimson red cloak to wipe the dirt and mud from the woman's face, shushing her wide-eyed protests as she fussed that cloak was much too nice to be cleaning waste matter.

"My lord?" Hunith had looked worried at his silence, cupping his ice cold face, warming it with her hands, ignoring the filth that covered her own face. Arthur was overcome with guilt at the sight of it.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you." Hunith shook her head immediately, scrunching her shawl tighter around her shoulders as a particularly vicious gale of wind cut through them.

"No, no, I've never expected you to come at all, Sire!"

At that moment, the man who Gwaine had just let go from sword point, grabbed a handful of dung and lobbed it, aiming for Arthur, whilst yelling.

"OI! How dare you come here to our good village, and threaten us while attending to that harlot!" The projectile never reached its target as Leon had finally stepped in and Arthur heard Elyan sigh in annoyance.

"Honestly. People have to realize, that if Leon's around and you insult the King, you're as good as dead."

Arthur had ignored it all, and continued to speak to Hunith.

"Sire, honestly, this isn't necessary - "

"If I gave you the impression that I didn't care, Lady Hunith, then it is a grave error I have made. I was too busy grieving on my own."

Here he had rubbed the fabric of the kerchief tied around his wrist, feeling the sharp piece of crystal through the layers of cloth.

Arthur had swept Hunith away from Ealdor then and there, letting the villagers watch in awe as they had placed Hunith behind him on the horse and Gwaine had taken possession of her meager belongings and set off toward Camelot, leaving Ealdor behind, never glancing once at the ominous frozen peaks that no doubt held the corpse of the son of the woman clutching back.

He came back to himself suddenly, sitting motionlessly on his bed as Lady Hunith organized his closet.

"Images can be broken and remade to represent whatever you want, and I have never been one for upholding that, though whether that's good or bad, I have yet to see." Arthur yanked his shoes off and hauled his boots on, waving off Hunith's protests that helping him put his clothes was her job.

"I'm fine, I can do it myself. I would actually like if you could go down and see if the preparation for the Noble's feast if going according to plan, and then, if you feel up to it, I would greatly appreciate you joining me at the banquet tonight."

Hunith raised an eyebrow at the invitation as she placed Arthur's discarded shoes in the base of his closet and used a basket to collect the clothes meant for washing.

"I have a choice?" Arthur stood from the bed, adjusting his clothes and swiping a hand through his hair, grinning at her.

"Of course. I only meant to invite you as the entertainment tonight might lift your spirits." Hunith though for a moment, a twinkle that Arthur didn't understand, in her eye.

"And I can wear my own clothes?" The King gave her an odd look as he poured water from a pitcher on his desk into a goblet.

"Wear your own clo- of course you can wear your own clothes. I would never force you to wear anything you did not want to."

"Really?" The tone of Hunith's voice was carefully casual, "because I recall receiving six or seven letters from Merlin complaining about a specific uniform that you made him wear to banquets."

Arthur had chosen that exact moment to gulp down the water he had poured, promptly choking , dribbling water inelegantly down his chin. His mind flashed back to Merlin in his first few days as a manservant in Camelot, dressed in that ridiculous feathered had and red pants in the first banquet he had attended. His heart clenched painfully at the reminder that he was never going to see the fool smile that big toothed grin at him ever again. His hand went, unbidden and unnoticed to his wrist where 3 years after the fact, Merlin's kerchief still kept its place.

It was a movement that Hunith didn't miss, and in a moment of motherly affection, she laid a hand over his on the fabric, feeling the rough material under her fingertips.

"This is Merlin's isn't it?" She said softly, glancing up at him. " I recognize it, I sewed it for him the night before he left for Camelot."

Arthur gripped his wrist tightly. He knew, logically, that the noble thing - the Kingly – thing to do would be to return the kerchief to Merlin's mother. He knew this. However, his body somehow wouldn't let him remove it, to separate himself from it, this last remnant of Merlin's existence. This last thing that made him real.

"It is." He hated how stiff his voice sounded. How closed.

Hunith's eyes flicked to his face and her eyes softened at the underlying panic in the King's eyes. She patted his wrist twice before letting go.

"It's alright Sire, I'm not asking for it back." Arthur refused to acknowledge the relief that swept through him before she spoke again. "I'm asking why 3 years after my – my darling son has passed on, why do you posses a keepsake of a manservant?"

"I -" Arthur was stunned. Stumped by his inability to answer the question. He barely refrained from retreating to his desk in defense. In truth, in the 3 years since his passing, Arthur rarely, if ever, removed the Kerchief containing the crystal from his person.

He couldn't explain it, but late at night, when he was awake and plagued by the ghosts of the past, he could swear that he could feel him. Arthur could feel Merlin with him like a comforting presence.

Hunith smiled at him, as she backed away, taking a moment's liberty to pat the King's head like a child, a motherly gesture that threw Arthur off guard in its foreign nature.

"Someday, you'll understand what your actions mean, my King, even if you're not ready yet, one day you will be. Sometimes, the only way to love someone is to realize that they may be lost."


	4. A Lost Man

A/N: Helllooooooooo. Im late. I know. And after I made that fuss about posting soon. ugh. But here I am! *dodges rocks* Heh Heh. Anywho please follow, favorite and review! I live for the feedback!

 **Chapter 4: A Lost Man**

"Gwaine. Gwaine. Gwaine stop it. That's enough - "

"No -" Gwaine's response became muffled as he gritted his teeth through the exhaustion it caused him to attempt to get up from his bed where he'd lain in frustration for the last three days, "I have to – we've got to go get Merlin."

"Gwaine, there's already a search party gone - "

"No!" The force of the word and the way it erupted from the Knight's mouth startled the others into a shocked silence. "You don't understand, none of you understand. How can I just sit here when Merlin is out there?! Alone?" Gwaine's face became grimace of pain as the remnants of the magical exposure weakened him and made him stumble, finding support in Percival. "He – He – Merlin's the reason I'm here, that I even stay sober half the time – I can't leave him. He's my friend." Gwaine looked around the room, at the rest of them, begging them with his eyes to understand what he couldn't articulate.

"But Gwaine, Gwen already told me this morning that a search party left the day we came back, " Elyan laid a placating hand on Gwaine's arm as the knight leaned against Percival. "they haven't returned yet with news." No one mentioned that the sun had long set with nothing resembling the slightest bit of 'news'. Here Gaius cleared his throat, setting his apothecary kit on the the wooden table in the corner of the drafty room the knights inhabited on the west side of the castle.

"Given the circumstances, I thought it best if King Arthur spoke to you first but seeing as things are getting out of hand I feel you should know - "

"He's gone." The room dropped into a deathly silence as they all turned to find Arthur standing in the doorway. No one knew how long he had been standing there or how much he had heard, but it didn't matter in the wake of the two words the King had flatly said.

Gwaine seemed to blanch, the color draining from his face making him seem bizarrely sick.

"Gone?" The words came out as a hoarse whisper. Lancelot stood up suddenly from his own cot, using the wall for support.

"Are – are you sure?"

"Gone." Arthur repeated, holding out the red kerchief and the white blood crusted crystal, Leon couldn't help but notice in his own detached way that the King's eyes were red rimmed and slightly puffy. Attention to that detail was torn away by the sudden collapse of Gwaine who had gone limp, losing his grip on Percival and gone crashing to his knees on the floor.

"Gone." Gwaine mouthed the words numbly while Gaius struggled to maintain composure, he hadn't even had time to process the news himself and it was all he could do to remain in control.

"He shouldn't have died like that. Alone." Gwaine whispered. Lancelot uncharacteristically growled in frustration.

"He shouldn't have died at all." He seemed to have regained enough strength to knock a bedside table over, huffing over the energy it took. "He was stronger than any of us, stronger than -"

"Strength of your heart or your stupid spirit doesn't help you in battle!" Gwaine yelled finally. Arthur remained silent, still not having crossed over the threshold into the room, as if that mere action would separate him from the grief of the group as a whole. His was hard enough to handle, how was he going to deal with theirs?

"He shouldn't have been with us at all! Merlin was never trained for combat! He never knew how to do anything except run! We all knew this would be dangerous. We knew we were going to end up fighting. Anyone we fight knows we bring Merlin with us! Our very own servant," Gwaine's lip curled in disgust. "As if we were on some kind of leisure trip. Did you see that bitch? The way she went after him? She knew." He rounded on Arthur at this point, still on the floor and now pounding the stone floor with his fist.

"This is your fault! You knew what this could have turned out to be. You knew Merlin couldn't defend himself and you brought him anyway! For what? Entertainment? Someone to distract us when we should have been focusing on that bitch enchantress?" Gwaine's face crumpled then, tears finally breaking through.

"I hate that I can still remember it." His voice became faint under the tears. No one had to ask what he meant. " I hate that I just stood there while the damn roof caved in over him."

The silence after that stretched uncomfortably long before Lancelot spoke.

"I hate that he was tortured because of us."

"Because of me." Arthur's voice shook. The first indicator of emotion since appearing. "Because of a blasted sword that disappeared right after I used the thing." The bitterness in words were acidic, a clear reflection of the guilt he felt.

"It doesn;t matter why he died, what matters is that he's gone." Leon heard himself say. It was odd, he'd had minimal interaction with the manservant, but he felt the death keenly. Like a villager had gotten in the way of a dispute between warring Kingdoms, like he failed in protecting someone who shouldn't have become a casualty at all.

An innocent life lost. Once again, he was left to wonder how many of those who were blameless would perish for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He was sure, that if he were there, Merlin would have said the right thing.

He would have.

Elyan tried to bring back some semblance of control, signaling to the crystal shard still in Arthur's hand.

"Isn't that the crystal from thing on Merlin's chest?" Gwaine's attention was momentarily distracted from his self-loathing. Gaius collected himself long enough to step toward the King and gingerly gesture toward it, wordlessly asking for permission. Arthur granted it with a tight nod of his head and Gaius delicately picked it up from his hand and almost instantly dropped it.

This garnered more interest than Arthur had shown all day.

"It's a Lesh magic." The revulsion in his voice made Gaius's words tremble with sorrow as he put it back in Arthur's hand and resisted the urge to wipe his hands. Not in front of Arthur.

"Lesh?"

"Mind control. The enchantress controlled her prisoners with it. Total subservience, they would have no choice but to obey. And if - " Gaius swallowed once, eyes darting to Arthur, remembering the King's fevered mumbling of Merlin being turned into something, could he dare to hope that it wasn't as he thought -

"Merlin killed her though. He ignored her orders and killed her." Leon spoke, brow furrowing at the memory. Gaius flinched at the words, eyes wide and raised his hands to the heavens in supplication.

"Then it is a mercy that my boy is dead." He shook his head at the sentiment, elaborating for the sake of the incredulous looks he was receiving from the young men. "A life as one controlled who has no one to serve is a fate I would not wish upon my worst enemy."

* * *

That particular scene would haunt Arthur for decades to come, the look of guilt on Gwaine's face made him realize that Merlin wasn't just his to mourn. His manservant had been important to others as well. As the banquet progressed and the entertainment was brought out, Arthur found his gaze straying repeatedly to Hunith leaning against the wall off to his right with a water jug balanced in one hand, watching the jester juggle his torches of fire. Arthur watched her delighted eyes following the up and down movements of the entertainer's arms and then to his own knights, seeing them smile truly for the first time in three years as they knocked back tankards of ale and talked amongst themselves. No one knew better than him how the road to accepting Merlin's loss had been rocky and fraught with obstacles. One could not move far in either direction within the castle without encountering something that would remind them of the young man. But as time did, it soothed the wounds and faded the sting of grief, turning it into something more bearable. For them.

For Arthur, Merlin's absence was an injury that was dealt to him daily, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to the moment his eyes closed at night to chase another night of wretched dreaming. Arthur smiled at a noblewoman waving coyly at him from across the room, he could not have been less interested. Little held any kind of fascination for the him anymore. Arthur recognized the path he was weaving down and instead chose to look back at his knights, taking in the changes in his men in the three years that had passed.

Gwaine's hair remained long, but the knight now sported a gruff beard that made him resemble the isolated mountain men they would come across in their travels. Lancelot's hair had grown quite long as well, seemingly following in Gwaine's footsteps, his eyes had taken on a weary quality beyond their general genial look, a quiet sadness that permeated him, lurking just below the surface. The others had dealt with Merlin's passing, which Arthur chalked up to their own methods of grieving. Not everyone could wail and carry on as he had, as had Merlin's two closest friends. Percival was just as large as before, however now, he had taken to the drink much like Gwaine, the two having become fast tavern buddies. Leon remained much the same, keeping a close on the knights and providing himself as a silent and invisible shadow at Arthur's back. Elyan had become Gwen's rock in the last few years, making up from the years that were lost, now her best friend, much like Merlin had been, but somehow not enough.

Arthur knew Gwen would never tell Elyan how he fell short, but Merlin's death had left a noticeable void, one that couldn't be filled. It would floor him sometimes, how the unassuming man had managed to unknowingly become such an integral part of their lives, felt only when he was no longer there to occupy that part.

He wondered briefly noticing the evidence of the passing of time on his knights, if Merlin had been alive right now, would he have changed as well? Or would he have remained ever the same?

What would the Merlin of today look like?

* * *

It hurt.

Merlin's head swam with the overload of information in it. The sights, the sounds, the smells. Even as a human, the sharper senses of a wolf overtook his human ones, giving him greater insight to the world around him. But his mind and his chest hurt. Through it he heard Circe's garbled voice, giving him unintelligible commands and his body rebelled against him, trying to obey despite having no idea what he was being ordered to do.

It made him stumble around the alcove, vision hazy and unfocused. Merlin knocked items off the shelves and crashed into more than one wall trying to control himself, a control that didn't exist. It was as if his mind needed some kind of cage, something to rein it in, to rein in the sheer power and magic he felt coursing through him, closer to him than his own blood.

He recognized the feeling, knowing that it came from his act of murdering his creator. With Circe dead, hatever hold she kept on the creatures she created died, and left in its wake anarchy.

Now somehow on the floor in the hallway beyond the main room, one flooded with snow and water, Merlin tried to regain some kind of focus on himself. He could feel a hollow sensation in his chest, tracing down the length of it to feel the crack in his chest. Merlin blinked, ignoring the havoc in his brain momentarily, the act of concentrating his mind in one area brought the confusion to some kind of halt. Looking down, Merlin saw the crystal in his chest, still glowing bright despite his owner being dead. Before he could investigate further Merlin heard a sound and smelled a scent that made his blood run cold.

His hearing now considerably heightened, Merlin scrambled to his feet and became aware of horses galloping up to the entrance of the crumbled castle. His nose picked up the distinct smells of horses and suddenly he knew, just by sounds of people dismounting from their steeds that these were knights. Camelot knights. It had to be.

Only Camelot would be aware of this ruin, especially in after the storm that had just passed. Merlin thought frantically, looking at the reflection of himself in a pool of melted ice at his feet. He was gargantuan, with shoulders broader than Percival and a physique to make the man feel like pre-pubescent boy. His hair had somehow grown to below his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a man who had long abandoned society, not to mention that he was clothed only in what described as shreds of fabric that had once been trousers.

No, he decided. There was no way he could go back. Not like this. As if to accentuate the point, Merlin felt his teeth elongate dangerously at the smell of delicious live prey, knowing he was a danger to himself and to others. He had to do something, something to leave and never come back. Merlin wasn't sure what his new life entailed, but he knew he could not dream of resuming his place as it had been.

The warlock thought quickly, looking for something to distract them, when he spotted a red scrap of fabric on the floor, near the bench where he had been tortured. His eyes strayed momentarily to the bench, remembering the feel of water trickling into his nose, the feeling of drowning on dry land before he forced himself away. He crept towards the red cloth, not daring to breathe or move faster than necessary for fear of alerting those outside. Once Merlin had his kerchief in his grasp, his eyes landed on a pool of crimson liquid and an idea suddenly made itself known to him.

He looked down at his chest and braced himself, already knowing it would hurt. He stuck a fanglike nail in the edge of the crack in the crystal and pressed down hard, muffling a snarl of pain as a piece of the jewel splintered free, falling in the kerchief he held outstretched. It was instantaneous, he could feel the break, that something was missing, that he wasn't whole. Merlin paused only for a moment, feeling panicked as he realized that the knights were now digging in the snow, inching closer, then slow-crawled to the pool of blood on the floor, swiping both crystal and cloth through it, and then shuffled close to the snow that barricaded him inside and kept the others out.

It was torturous, being so close. Merlin could smell them clearly through the snow, soft flesh and warm, pulsing blood that he could hear pumping furiously to keep the body of the knights warm. He bit down on his lip, feeling the fang pierce through and focused on using his magic for the first time since his capture here.

He placed the carefully wrapped crystal in the snow and pushed with his hand, using his magic to continue the journey, making it travel through the snow until it was sure to find its way into searching hands. The warlock held his breath as the cloth moved without him, painting the snow red as it went, despite more falling to fill in the cavity it left behind.

Merlin heard a shout suddenly, and knew it had been found. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the ground, feeling the stone pulse underneath his palm, and concentrated. The answering rumble in the mountain around him spooked the knights outside into remounting in a hurry, and soon, all Merlin could here were the receding galloping of the men as they no doubt returned with their bounty.

Merlin allowed himself the small comfort of knowing that they had at least tried to come back for him and would have found him, were it not for his own interference. He sat there, on the floor for a moment, staring at the wall of ice and snow before him, the only defense between the world and himself. Merlin supposed he ought to get used it, heaving himself up and turning to the vast network and rooms unexplored in Circe's castle of horrors.

His new home.

He supposed he fit the bill, a monster needed to live in a home fit for a monster. It was only right. He took in the mangled corpses of Circe and her first werewolf, and decided he needed to dispose of the body. He could already smell them beginning to rot.

Steeling himself against the revulsion he felt, Merlin grabbed what he could and began a slow journey down the flooded hallway, long and narrow. It was dim, and only vaguely lit, some light from outside filtering in from somewhere he had yet to discover. He kept going, dragging the carcasses until a similar smell stopped him in his tracks. He was in front of wooden door, from which the unmistakable stench of rot emanated from.

Merlin put down his fare and warily pushed the door open, hesitant of what he would find.

He was right. Merlin couldn't help but double dry heave as he saw the vast pile of bodies within, all bearing the marks of a wolf.

It was the beginning of hell. He just didn't know it yet.

* * *

 **Three Years Later**

* * *

"Ector!" A woman wrung her hands in agony, watching her young boy gag and cough and the strong currents of the river pulled him under again and again.

"ECTOR!" She waded in and was knocked back as currents pushed her out, almost conspiring against her in order to take her child from her. The river was less than 4 feet deep but her child was so small that he couldn't find his footing to save himself.

"Mam -" His wail cut off as the water converged on him again. Ector felt nothing but absolute terror, he hadn't meant to go so far in, but there was a shiny rock, and Mama loved shiny things, and if she had it maybe she wouldn't be so sad about Father. He took a huge gulp of air and was met with only water, his vision started to blur as his lungs burned and his body went limp.

Ector's suddenly flew open as a large hand descended down, down into the water and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He coughed and sputtered, spitting water out of his mouth feverently. His wide and terrified eyes took in his savior.

A man easily as large as a bear, huge and intimidating, was staring at him, his ice blue eyes briefly turning gold before going back to normal. The man cocked his head to one side, giving him a once over, still holding him by the back of his shirt. His eyes flickered to something past Ector, and began wading toward shore. He unceremoniously dropped Ector into the waiting arms of his mother, who looked equally scared and grateful.

"T-thank you." She eked out, holding the boy close to her chest, mesmerized and yet frightened by him. "Thank you for saving my boy." She managed a small bow towards him.

"It wasn't his time to go." The man with the shaggy black hair replied simply.

A shout sounded from over the embankment.

"Hello? Is anybody there? I heard screams."

The woman turned, cradling Ector to her, and saw 2 knights crest over the hill. The men took in her bedraggeled appearance and strode to her side.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, my boy fell into the water and almost drowned but thankfully this man -" She turned and discovered her savior had disappeared. "-saved him." She trailed off, the giant mountain of a man now nowhere to be found.

"Who?"

"A man. He was just here. He saved Ector." She sounded confused, and didn't see the Knights exchange a worried glance. She only thought of the deep, sorrowful look in his eyes.

"Who was he?"

"A lost man."


	5. Enter

"Merlin." The great wolf advanced upon Gwaine undeterred, taking no note of how the man scrambled back as swiftly as he could even while trying not to move in a way the beast would find threatening, kept going until his back hit a tree, scraping it painfully.

A/N: So mainly filler, but this sets us up for our first major plot point. Next chapter should be out next week! PLEAD READ AND REVIEW!

 **Chapter 5: Enter**

"Merlin, I know it's you, I know you're in there. Come _on_ it's me, Gwaine. _Look at me,_ mate, I'm not going to hurt you _."_ Still Merlin came towards the knight, taking long strides. It was night, and Gwaine had made the mistake of venturing out into the woods. For what purpose, the wolf didn't care to know, instead he just made sure that the man would not attempt to leave. The knight made an attempt to stretch his hand out to touch the wolf on its snout but the low, predatory growl the canine emitted had him snatching his hand back as quickly as possible.

The moon shone brightly overhead, casting a low blue glow over everything underneath it. It gave Merlin's fur coat an ethereal look, turning it silver in hue and almost lulling Gwaine into continuing to stare at it, stare at the way the light shone and trickled through it.

"Merl-" The voice cut with a pain gasp as the wolf swiped at Gwaine with a gargantuan paw, knocking him to the ground where he groaned and attempted to sit up, hands clutching his chest. " _MerL_ _IN_ _!_ _"_ The gasps turned into a wet cough as the beast came ever closer, and for the first time, Gwaine feared Merlin. He was well and truly frightened of his best friend, more so than ever as he saw the Wolf suddenly bound toward him, gaping maw and all. He had expected death, welcomed the idea of it sometimes, but not like this. Never like this.

"No!"

 _NO, no_ _no_ _, stop it, stop it -_

"STOP!" Merlin shot up in his bed, and it took him a few moments to register his surroundings. It was dark, and only from the presence of a flickering torch up on the stone wall, Merlin was able to realize that he was in what had been Circe's chambers. He was drenched in sweat and shaking, Merlin realized belatedly, that he'd been clenching his fists so tightly in his sleep that he now sported four bloody half-moons on his palms. The warlock was aware of the intense pain his chest and realized he would have to calm down first an exercise he now had to partake in daily. He shifted in his bed, made of some kind of down, and cast the clear white sheet that had been covering him aside.

It had been 3 years but still the sight of his own body, huge and muscular, still jarred him and though Merlin missed his own body, he now couldn't remember what it felt like to have thin wrists and to be able to move unnoticed in the background since his size now made him a sight to behold.

Of his clothes, only the trousers, shredded as they were, remained. Somehow, though Merlin could not wear them all day, he chose to wear them in his sleep, a reminder of where he had come from, a comforting presence when he didn't know where he was going.

The dream kept replaying in his head, in particular, the ending, where his vision went red and he could hear Gwaine's screams. Though the dreams took a physical toll on him, Merlin took them as reinforcement of his decision to live as he did, venturing out only when in need of supplies. He shook his head and stood, knowing that there was no more sleep to be had now, not with what he'd just witnessed in his own mind. Merlin took a whiff of himself and wrinkled his nose, he desperately needed to bathe, it had been 5 days already since his last wash.

The warlock padded out of his chambers, now devoid of everything inside except the bed and torches and made his down the cold stone hallway passing by the room that he had stumbled into the first day, ignoring it entirely. Merlin passed another door, staying as far away as he could from it. It murmured strangely to him, tugging at something within him, and thus far, he had managed to resist, but today, for the first time, he could feel the restraint fraying. He tried to center himself and moved on, instead opening the door to what must have been Circe's private bathing pool. The chamber was massive, the door opened to reveal a shallow stone ramp, perhaps 10 feet long that descended into the water and ended by leveling off with the bottom of the pool.

It was perhaps the warmest room in the decrepit castle, the steam rising from the water itself had Merlin thinking that it source must be from somewhere underground, and shed his trousers, and walked into the water. The torches on the walls were lit, perhaps enchanted, and cast a warm orange glow in the cavern, that did nothing to warm Merlin's heart. Every time he saw himself, his reflection, he felt he was losing a portion of what he used to be. He could no longer remember what his true body looked like. Al that remained was this distorted image that he didn't recognize. Merlin took a deep breath and submerged himself fully, opening his eyes underneath and seeing the world from a different perspective.

It was different, doing this now, his lungs no longer burned with desire for air, he was able to hold his breath for much longer than he used to be able to. The warlock resurfaced and waded in the waist chest high water back to the edge of the pool and leaned his head back, resting against the warm stone ledge.

Arthur's face flashed unbidden through his mind. It had been no use, no matter how much he tried to make himself forget, Merlin had been unable to stop thinking about the King. The werewulf remembered all too clearly the panic on his face when the boulders came down, effectively separating them forever. He couldn't remember anything after that, just the sight of Gwaine and Arthur being yanked out of harm's way by Percival.

He closed his eyes and gave up, mentally tracing a picture in his mind, the sandy blonde hair, the striking eyes, and the countenance that inspired a desire to follow and watch unasked. It was regal and real and made Merlin want to succumb to the tears he had locked away three years ago, sitting on the floor after his first succesfull change and vowing never to weep again. After all it wasn't as if he were the victim anymore, he had become what he feared the most, the beast. The creature of lore that would lay waste to villages and tear families apart. A life of sin must be met with a life of punishment.

Such was the rule of life.

* * *

Hunith had tried. Really, she had. It wasn't as if she'd _chosen_ this. But often in life, things do not go according to plan, as Hunith had learned.

Hunith mentioned to Arthur, on many occasions, that she would prefer that he drop the word "Lady" in front of her name, but the King hadn't listened, only explained that he was free to call her whatever he chose, unless the title offended her personally. But then he'd pinned her with such a _sad_ look when he considered that she might be offended that his name for her was uncomfortable that she _had_ to say of course she didn't mind, and he'd brightened right up after that approval and was gone, leaving Hunith in the same predicament in which she'd arrived.

It just wasn't _normal,_ anyone could see that. Merlin was a man-servant – had been – a manservant. She was only replacing her son's position, so why then, did he insist on calling her by such a formal title so far above her station. It was only a matter of time -

"Honestly, it's as if the woman believes that the world is at her feet just because the King favors her a _little._ " Hunith sighed. Too late, she thought as she entered the room in which the dirty linens were to be deposited and she heard a group of castle maids come walking down the stone hallway, walking slowly.

"Exactly. That woman, Anna, had the nerve yesterday to tell me that she was going to King Arthur's chambers to give him his freshly washed clothes."

"No!"

 _Brat. That'_ _s_ _because I needed someone to be able to tell the Head Lady Maid where I was in case she asked,_ Hunith snorted to herself.

"Yes! The old woman was showing off! As if her job is _special_ or something! I've gone to deliver his clothes to him myself, it's not as if she's the only one."

"I never. Farina, she's so unbelievably full of herself, as if the fact that the King calls her _Lady_ _Hunith_ changes the fact that she's a maid, just like the rest of us." The scoffs from the other women was familiar to Hunith, it came from a group of young women who had just started working at the Camelot, just before she had. Hunith supposed the animosity sprung from the fact that her duties that she did now had been the collective responsibility of the group outside. Her appearance and the King's familiarity had seemed to spark some kind of hostility from them.

She supposed it made sense, after all the King, before Merlin's death, had had a well-known affair with Gwenivere and she supposed that many of these women felt that it was possible he would do the same with them, given the chance. It didn't bother Hunith, she had lived most of her adult life in a village that had sought to make her life hell, so a couple of gossiping children barely registered in her mind, though it _did_ put her out a bit when she came to her quarters to find her bed soaked or her clothes sullied in mud.

"I know! Just the other day," another maid chimed in, her voice turning conspiratorial. "Carine from kitchen maids _swore_ she saw Hunith enter the King's chambers at midnight. The King himself let her in!"

The others gasped, scandalized.

 _For the love of - h_ _e'd just wanted to talk about Merlin!_ Hunith sorted the linens neatly as she couldn't help but listen. Even she had to admit, they spun rather fantastical tales.

"You don't suppose -?"

"What is there to _suppose_ , it's clear as the day, she's clearly gone and made herself his harlot."

"But she's so _old._ "

Hunith shook her head, as the women passed the room, unaware she was inside, walking towards the end of the hallway where the pathway split into a fork. She made sure to keep her steps quiet as she exited the room, unwilling to attract their attention, she had places to go and dealing with them would set her back. Those that preferred to gossip always made her wary, you never knew when they would turn on you.

"Old or not, a whore never loses out to experience."

Hunith stifled the urge to walk back five paces and smack Anna. _Impertinent child, you must have missed the day your parents taught decorum to their children._ She wiped her sweating brow with the handkerchief she kept stowed in a pocket in her dress.

"Do you think the King prefers women like that?"

"Like what?"

"You know, _matronly."_

Hunith dropped her handkerchief in indignance. _Matronly?_

 _"_ Well, I've seen her in the bath, and her breasts are simply just -" Here the maid a sound indicating the mediocrity of Hunith's body.

"Perhaps she's good at other things?"

The suggestive tone in Anna's voice left little to the imagination, and Hunith could only roll her eyes to herself as she leaned down to pick up the fabric, she stopped short at the sound of a terrified gasp and turned to look despite herself.

Hunith almost wished she hadn't. The group of five women had made it down the short hallway to the fork, which was rather rounded, and had come face to face with none other than the King himself. Not only the King, Hunith corrected herself as she rose back up, clutching the handkerchief to her chest, but the entirety of his Knights as well, all dressed for travel, in armor and capes.

Hunith had never seen the expression the King currently wore, in her 2 ½ years working in Camelot, it was obvious that he had heard the maid's conversation. Arthur's face was thunderous, and Hunith somehow wished she had stayed in the linen room when she saw the King's eyes dart around and land on her, expression darkening inexplicably. Now he knew that she'd heard whatever he had heard.

He walked forward slowly, in silence, the maids trembling at the rarely seen fury in Arthur's eyes. Suddenly he spoke, slow and measured, a symbol of his restraint.

"I would advise, that before you choose to gossip, you consider, ladies, about whom you speak." The words were icy and sent shivers down Hunith's spine. It was a new side of him that she was seeing since he only showed her two faces, the man grieving for his friend and the kind man that sought to make his Kingdom a haven for all those who would choose to reside there.

"I will not tolerate speech like this, Lady Hunith is someone I care about, and the next time you make the ill –advised decision to spout such unrefined commentary on my personal life, I will quite courteously suggest that you find employment elsewhere."

Silence reigned quite thoroughly after this and after he waited a moment, Arthur spoke again.

"Well?"

"Yes, Your Highness!" The maid cried, frightened to their core and at Arthur's curt nod of dismissal, they quickly scurried down the left hallway at the fork though Hunith was inclined to think that they were perhaps supposed to be going down the way Arthur had come but were too scared to walk past him.

Arthur met Hunith's eyes and she couldn't help but smile. The anger he showed in her defense, reminded her much of Merlin's own ineffectual raging at the villagers when they shouted abuse at her.

She looked up at the ceiling for a moment as Arthur and his company walked down the hallway to her.

How she missed her son.

* * *

Merlin had been trying to avoid it all day. That single room, in this castle that he had yet to enter. He knew it was silly, but after passing it only a handful of times, he could sense that whatever lay inside was not natural. It spoke to him in whispers as he passed it, encouraged him to enter, told him it would grant his desires, listen to his tortured heart.

The werewulf had managed to avoid it for 3 years, but today, there was a gnawing sensation inside that urged him to enter, to see the wonders within. So here Merlin stood, hand on the door, feeling the strange energy pulse through the stone, apprehensive and yet curious, despite his better judgement. It called to him, beckoned him closer. What else could he do?

He entered.


	6. See Him Again

A/N: 

though I said I'd update soon, it's already been so late :'( D:

Sorry, sorry. But I'm here now. I haven't written in a while so I feel a bit out of sorts but here's the new chapters my loves.  
Please leave me a little message and tell me how I'm doing !

Chapter 6: **See Him Again**

"Gwai- Oh for the last ti– GWAINE, could you perhaps deign to join your company as they leave with YOUR KING!" Arthur would admit that this specific moment was perhaps not one of his finer moments and he tried not to think about the fact that everyone in the castle seemed more amused by him and not by his delinquent Knight. Said Knight, who was at this moment hugging Merlin's mother, and if the way she was coloring at his words was anything to go by, Arthur would bet his life that his cad of a knight was once again telling her inappropriate jokes, even he'd been expressly forbidden from doing so.

"I'm comin' princess, don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Gwaine!" Leon's scandalized gasp from Arthur's right was enough to crack him and he couldn't help but grin. Gwaine's insults reminded him of when Merlin would deliberately heckle him just to see how far he could take it. Now, at the very least, the pain of losing Merlin was dulled only slightly by the minute glimpses of him that Arthur could get in his daily life. Not that he would tell anyone that he could see Merlin whenever he picked up a shining gauntlet, picturing the man grousing about how Arthur was only going to dirty it anyhow and he would have to clean it all over again. He also couldn't see himself telling anyone that he could swear that when he woke early in the morning, when the faintest hues of pink washed over the night sky, that he could hear Merlin in his ear, bright and slightly sarcastic, telling him to wake up, that he was a nightmare to wake up and that if the King wasn't out of bed in the next 30 seconds, Merlin would have no choice but to confiscate the covers. Hunith very rarely had to wake him after that.

He nodded to the rest of his knights, signaling the lot of them to mount their horses. There was minimal grunting from the act of actually getting up on horseback, exacerbated by the fact that it was early in evening and in only a couple of hours, it would be well into the night hours as they worked their way through the forest on their monthly patrol of the area.

These patrols were usually uneventful and were punctuated by having to drag Gwaine out of taverns in every town they crossed, not because he kept getting drunk but rather because he was flirting with very available and unavailable maiden in the vicinity. Telling people that he was the King didn't work as well as one might hope either, leading most of the tavern dwellers to yell in response "an' I'm King Uther, ya daft lads!" Ergo, that meant that most of the time, he was unfortunately left running with his Knights out of villages like common tavern drunks on the wrong side of the law.

* * *

This patrol was shaping up to be equally as banal as the last, Arthur thought, barely paying attention to the jostling of his steed as the horses meandered through the forest leisurely, while he listened absent mindedly to the conversations of the knights around him. Arthur was suddenly hit with the memory of the last time Merlin had come with them, remembering the bickering they had engaged in as they saddled up.

He considered it progress when the memory no longer froze him in place and he could instead welcome it with sharp pain instead of agony. It was pain that he knew would likely never leave him until the day he died.

Sometimes, and Arthur had never voiced the thought out loud, but sometimes he found himself in-averse to the idea. After all, death was the only remaining barrier between him and Merlin. Would it be so awful to finally see him again in the throes of his mortality? Though it would be prudent to notice that he failed to observe the fact that he was thinking about dying to see his manservant and the idea of it didn't seem to bother him at all.

Of course, the moment he thought such things, he was assailed by memories of Merlin and that horrified look that he oft wore on his face when he perceived his Lord to be doing something beyond his comprehension.

"Have you actually gone insane? Have those training sessions finally broken your head?" Arthur imagined Merlin would say, complete with the man most likely dropping whatever he was carrying in shock.

It was just as well, Arthur mused, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself and Merlin would never forgive him if he abandoned his Kingdom like that, furthermore, he would never bring himself to abandon Hunith like that. He doubted that she would be able to endure another loss like that. In the 2 and half years she had been working at the castle she had become an irreplaceable figure to him, he took care of her just as she took care of him. Some nights, he couldn't help but call Hunith and just immerse himself in talking about Merlin, and even though on some level he was aware that it could be causing her pain to revisit the memory of her son so often he couldn't help himself.

It wasn't a waste either as Arthur realized that he was learning far more about his manservant than the man had ever voluntarily given up himself. He shouldn't have been thinking about this, not now, not here, right before leaving for patrol. He shouldn't be lost in the thoughts of his manservant and consumed with a dull ache inside, something he wasn't sure anyone could take away, even if he didn't understand why he hurt for Merlin so much.

If Arthur had been paying attention, he would have noticed the eyes watching. And waiting. But he didn't.

None of them did until it was too late.

* * *

It was only just after sunset when they decided to halt for the night. By Leon's calculations, they only had two more days of patrol left, as a result of managing to cover significantly more ground this time. There were a few grumbles and moans from the others about how running from Gwaine's lovers jilted lovers were mostly to blame but the culprit himself cheerfully ignored them.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to complain, content that even though they all carried the weight of Merlin's death on them, the other's seemed to be adjusting. Even if he wasn't.

He settled in, putting his back comfortably against a tree as the others prepared dinner, watching the men he trusted with his life, converse amongst themselves. Arthur put a hand unconsciously on his wrist, feeling the rough pull of the handkerchief comfortingly under his fingers.

Even if he was gone, Merlin was still here. To Arthur, the crystal, the handkerchief were both worldly anchors to a man that was long gone, even if he himself couldn't bear to face that truth in its finality.

So he sat, refusing to lose himself in the memories of a broken past while the world whirled on without him and instead pulling out his sharpening tools and setting to work on his blade.

* * *

"Shouldn't we at least try to get him out here?" Lancelot glanced back worriedly at his King who sat idly scraping at the remains of his meal, absentmindedly, it certainly made for a concerning sight.

"And say what? Forget about it, just come chat with us? You know as well as I do that he hasn't been the same. He does this all the time, pretending that he's moved on when we all know that he damned well hasn't." Gwaine said, poking at the flames in the fire a little harder than needed. Leon sighed, knowing full well from having stood outside the King's chambers for the last few weeks before waking him, that the nightmares persisted.

"I have tried everything. Lady Hunith even complied with a request by the King to put him to sleep but it did nothing to repel the night terrors. I fear losing Merlin has had more of an effect than we could have anticipated."

Elyan snorted disdainfully at that.

"'More of an effect'? The trauma is eating the King away. He has seen and done things far worse but this, I don't know why but this has affected him more than losing even his father, dare I say."

There was silence after that, and soon, wordlessly, the company stood, and without argument decided on the order of night watches, with Gwaine taking the first. They paused only to help Arthur with putting out his bedroll, despite his rather colorful protests that he could do well enough on his own, though he was skillfully ignored by pretty much everyone.

Soon the camp was filled with the sound of sleep whilst Gwaine kept watch over them. He thought as he sat about the things they had endured over the years. He could barely believe it sometimes, the fact that the man that had convinced him to stay had been the one to leave first. It seemed a betrayal on the rawest level and yet, knowing that he shouldn't feel like it, Gwaine felt resentful, that Merlin hadn't tried to hold on, that he gave in so quickly to death. Merlin who would have fought tooth and nail for Gwaine to save his life would forfeit his own so quickly seemed hypocritical and insulting on a level he couldn't explain, even to himself. All he knew was that beneath his laughter and healing, burned an anger he couldn't understand, no matter how hard he tried.

It was during these musing that Gwaine made his first mistake, he noticed it too late. The glint of a blade in the distance, reflecting the firelight, and before he could react, a ball of fire launched out of the dark and into their midst, setting the camp ablaze and effectively becoming more of a wakeup call than Gwaine could ever hope to be on his own.

Filthy, broken men poured out of the forest in what seemed like hordes, and Gwaine was quickly beset, unable to even to communicate with the knights beyond a battle cry.

"TO ARMS!"

Every knight had rolled out of their bedrolls the instant the fire had made contact, ready to for combat despite being unaware of the nature of the threat they faced. They like Gwaine were quickly beseiged by the sheer number of assailants.

The site became a noisy, full of the clanging of metal on metal, the scraping of it enough to set the teeth on edge. They would have emerged victorious in this instant, when they grouped and fought back as a whole, their skill intimidating enough to drive them back, until another player emerged. A man looking far more smug with himself than he should have, given the state of the bandits, with at least a third of their party felled.

"Tsk tsk tsk. King Arthur, you really should be far more careful. Wandering around so cavelierly like that? Why it's almost as if you're begging for it." His haggard appearance coupled with the overly luxurious fabrics that he had swathed himself in, led Arthur to come to the conclusion that this man had loftier opinions of himself than he was worth.

Arthur had barely a second to blink before the man did something, twirling his fingers and he felt the sword in his hand grow iron hot, making it impossible for him to hold on. Hearing the curses from around him, he knew, rather than saw the other knights quickly lose hold on their weapons. Arthur had no qualms about engaging in hard fist to fist combat but he could tell they were out of their depth with the sorcerer involved.

"What do you want?" He grit out, unused to being in a position of negotiating with the enemy. As it was, he couldn't risk any of their number being taken out, considering how little they were to begin with.

"Really? All of this and you still have to ask, Sire?" He adjusted the fabric cloak/coat he was wearing and jerked his head towards one of the men who stood nearest to Arthur. Arthur and the knights didn't make any sudden movements, assessing their situation. They were very firmly outnumbered, and if they made the wrong move they could very well end up dead. Not something any of them were particularly looking forward to. "If I want Camelot, My King, the easiest way to get it, would be through you." The man's mouth quirked up into a grin that instantly ignited loathing.

Arthur's blood ran cold at the thought. He could see from the restless way this group moved that they didn't have a particularly elaborate plan here. It looked like they gearing themselves up for a simple slaughter that would easily secure them the throne of Camelot with next to nothing of a fight. After all, who was going to go into hand to hand combat with the group that brings back the slain body of the King and that of his Knights.

With himself and the knights backed into a corner like this, Arthur thought frantically for an out. Night had fallen a long time ago and the visibility had gone down considerably, despite the flickering fire they had made when they had settled camp. His fists tightened, reminding Arthur of his vulnerability, and swiveling his head around, the King realized that his options were severely limited. They were tired, outnumbered at least five to one, odds that he wasn't liking in the least.

Before he could do anything else however, the sorcerer motioned to the burliest of the men standing on guard of his right.

"Right then, I suppose we should get to business. Camelot awaits the dawn of a new era. The Rule of King Brutus!" With an authoritative flick of his hand, the man obeyed, stomping towards the king, sword drawn. He got as far as grabbing Arthur by the wrist before Arthur found himself yanked back by his collar by Leon, drawn into the center of the circle they created, completed flanked on all sides. He barely had time register protest before they closed ranks amongst themselves.

"We are Knights of Camelot and we will drag you to the depths of Hell itself before you we let you touch our King." Elyan snarled, bringing his fists up, eyes unyielding.

"Also, there isn't a chance in purgatory that your name is Brutus, you absolute mouse of a man." Gwaine couldn't help but remark from his left and grinned. "I don't make it a habit of getting taken down by rats see."

Before any of them could tell what had happened, Brutus' eyes flashed into a liquid silver, and the leaves rustled around them until gale force winds quickly split apart the makeshift group they had made amongst themselves. The winds seemed to have a mind of their own as well, separating Arthur from the Knights, and keeping them apart.

It didn't take too much after that, seeing as the winds did not seem to affect Brutus' own men and they were able to quickly tie up all of them without much fuss, no matter how much fuss they wanted to create. Arthur had been tied to a tree next to his Knights, with his hands and legs bound as well as his torso being bound to the tree itself. Gwaine and Lancelot were not taking being tied up very well and were constantly struggling against their bindings.

"When I get out of here, the first thing I'm going to do is crush you into the ground, you utter maggot." Brutus was entirely unperturbed, strolling around them as his bandits finally stood around them in a circle, smirking to each other. He had picked up Arthur's own sword and held it inexpertly, while Arthur tried not to wince at the rough treatment of his weapon, seeing its finely honed tip scraping across the stones.

"Hm. What have we here?" Brutus paused in his pacing and knelt to the ground and picked up something. When he straightened and Arthur caught sight of the object, he wasn't even aware of when his mind went blank.

"Give that back." He said and the Knights paled, upon seeing the red handkerchief, the crystal lying loosely in its confines. Arthur couldn't bear the sight of the crystal lying so cavalierly in the hands of a stranger. It should be on him, it was his, without it Merlin didn't exist. He didn't have anything else. He needed it. He needed it.

"What's that? Is the prisoner," Brutus spat the word gleefully, "making demands now?"

"Give. It. Back."

"Arthur, Ar-Arthur, just rela - "

"GIVE IT BACK!" The King roared, the sound so loud that their captors were momentarily stunned into silence.

Brutus took a moment to collect himself and held out the handkerchief, nonchalantly.

"What this? Of course Sire, here – oops, silly me, I seem to have dropped it." Lancelot watched apprehensively as the kerchief, crystal and all fell to the ground. It made no sound as it made contact with the ground and yet they all palpably felt it, as if it were glass shattering on stone.

"It's rather dark in here, Your Highness, one cannot help but stumble around a little."

"He cannot do that!" Percival spoke for the first time, whispering quietly next to Leon. "If the King loses that, I fear it will be too much for him."

"I know, but I'm in no position to stop him! As it is, our first priority is to get the King to Camelot safely and even that's looking rather undoable."

"Well we have to do something," Gwaine's voice joined them, "I am not going to meet Merlin in the afterlife and tell him I got punted in because a scrawny twit of a magician killed the King!"

"I hate to say I agree with Gwaine, but I cannot disagree." Leon grumbled. "Besides, the King doesn't appear to be entirely in control right now."

And he was right, Arthur's eyes had taken on a vaguely crazed look as he fought his bounds.

"You don't know anything! A mere filthy sorcerer like you should be executed for simply touching it." Even Brutus was taken aback by the vehemence in the eyes of the King.

"What's this then, the King who kept his composure despite threats of execution suddenly starts spouting his own ultimatums all for a measly crystal?"

"Give. It. Back." There was no mistaking the deadly intent in Arthur's eyes and the Knights thought that even though he was bound, Brutus appeared mildly frightened by the intensity the King had. But before anyone of them could escalate the situation any further, a powerful gale of energy flew through the clearing, taking out the fire as it did. They were now all plunged into darkness, while the Arthur stayed silent, he could hear Brutus barking orders, unnerved at the sudden absence of light.

He had but seconds before the entire clearing was filled with the sound of growling, so loud and overwhelming that it was impossible to tell from where the sound originated. As dark as it was, Gwaine could tell that whatever was happening was unnatural. The way their surroundings responded to the voice was unnerving and for a reason he couldn't explain the mere sound of it sent chills down his spine.

There was the brief sound of scuffling which confused him and Arthur could hear the other exclaim when the darkness fell, trying to make sense of what was happening around them. All to suddenly Arthur felt the pressure of the ropes lessen significantly and he realized with a start that someone had cut him free of the ropes and if the sounds of his men getting to their feet was anything to go by, then it was the same for them. Then, slicing through the night, they heard agonized screams and horrific squelching, dragging on for what felt like hours until the smog of night was abruptly lifted from their eyes. Arthur and the Knights made the wise decision not to move, for they could neither make heads or tails of their situation and it seemed like the safest option, was to gather around their King and wait out the threat. As luck would have it, it seemed that the threat had passed because, suddenly they could hear no more, the forest had gone deathly quiet. The same way it had been before the whole mess started in the first place.

Now, being Knights, the lot of them had seen their fair share of carnage but what awaited them once they could actually see was something that none of them could quite fathom.

To say that their assailants were killed, would have been like saying that Arthur was only fond of Hunith. That is to say, it would have been grossly untrue.

Their assailants had been eviscerated, it seemed to Arthur that there were no bodies to bury or inspect because whatever had come upon them had left everyone in its wake reduced to nothing more than bloody lumps of flesh that still almost seemed to beat. In fact, Arthur thought, the particular lump he was looking at, was a heart. One that beat feebly still, apparently thinking it still had a body to live in.

Arthur ignored it, and instead looked around on the ground for the item that Brutus had been taunting him with. The panic grew as he looked and looked and failed to find it, he could hear Lancelot whispering quietly to Percival in the background. He knew, that to the others he appeared crazy, unhinged even, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Arthur gave up all pretenses now and began crawling on all fours despite protests from the others.

"Sire, I'm sure we can find it. Please, stand up."

"You don't understand Elyan, that was mine. It's all I have, and I can't lose it. I can't. That was – It's – I just can't go without it." Arthur didn't know it, but for Elyan it was as if he were seeing the King for the first time, not as a ruler but as a man who had lost something precious to him. "Please."

"Sire!" Leon's call broke them out of their exchange and they looked over to the older knight, he stood at the opposite end of the clearing and pointed at something. No more words needed to be said, because everyone who stood in that clearing understood. Leon had found it and had the good sense to refrain from touching it himself.

Arthur got up from where he knelt, barely sparing a glance for Elyan, so focused was he on the kerchief. When he finally got to it, Arthur picked it up from the grass, the pieces of cloth and crystal having been split up, no one could miss the longing way in which he looked at it. Arthur lay the crystal flat inside the kerchief, folded it again and wrapped it around his wrist. As soon as he'd done so, the knights didn't miss the way in which a certain amount of tension seemed to seep out of him, like he'd once again, become whole. Arthur felt calmer and more reassured, with that piece of crystal tied to him like an anchor to a world in which he sometimes felt hopelessly lost.

* * *

Merlin knew he shouldn't. Standing outside the room, with his hand on the door handle, Merlin could feel every bit of his common sense wailing at him to walk away. But he couldn't handle the curiosity. He'd avoided it for three years, ignored the whispered beckons every time he passed it, and pretended it didn't exist when the allure became too much.

He should turn around, he knew, and go on his duties for the day. He had a job to do, one that had been of his own making but a job nonetheless. He had to make his rounds, check on the villages in the area and keep them safe. It was his duty, and as long as he didn't get close to humans, he would be fine.

Sometimes, the temptation would be so great the Merlin would physically have to leave the dwellings in order to avoid walking in there. He didn't know what lay in that room, but he knew that if he opened the door, his life would never be the same.

Although if he were honest, he didn't think it mattered much considering how much his life had already changed. However, did he want to risk changing it again? Merlin stood in the cold, dark, damp castle he called home and tried to will himself away from it.

He moved his hand from the stone door and turned his back to the door and managing only three steps before he stopped.

Will you deny it?

The whisper was so faint that Merlin couldn't be sure he'd heard anything at all.

Will you close your eyes, like you always have and pretend that you cannot hear us call, O Great One?

Merlin bit his lip, feeling silly. Three years into solitary living and he was already starting to go senile? If Arthur were here, he would crying hard enough to shed tears.

Merlin.

The sorcerer ignored and flexed his hands, he just needed to walk away. The same as he'd always done.

Merlin.

He was imagining it. He was imagining that the voice sounded like someone he knew. That it sounded like it was calling for help.

MERLIN!

That was it. Merlin could bear it no longer. He turned back the way he came and gave himself no time to reconsider and just pushed the door open. Expecting more resistance from the stone door, Merlin found himself barreling through harder than he anticipated and came to a stumbling stop. It was bright. Brighter than he thought it would be. Merlin blinked like a newborn babe, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light and then stopped.

Whatever he had thought he would see was pushed firmly out of his mind when he looked at the large luminescent oval on the wall, swirling with crystal white energy. It pulsed violently when he walked toward it, as if responding to him.

He had stood in front of it for a moment, watching the swirling of kinetic energy internally. Until, finally, Merlin summoned up the courage to touch it, or at least try to. Immediately, as soon as his index finger made contact, it sent an electric current through Merlin's body, almost like it was bonding itself to Merlin somehow, and the entirety of the oval changed.

It turned from a white silver tone of swirls and curls, to a forest tableau. At first Merlin was lost, and comprehension of the picture eluded him until a dark mahogany colored stallion caught his eye, and as if it could sense Merlin's attention, the image shifted again and Merlin could see, clearly the image of his King and the Knights being held hostage, tied against trees, with a group of men threateningly encircling them.

Merlin could see Arthur yell, and could tell that the man holding them seemed to be some kind of mage himself. Try as he might, he was having difficulty controlling himself, he could feel that primal part of his consciousness begin to grow inside. There was something territorial Merlin felt, when it came to Arthur, likely an extension of his fealty to the King, he'd reasoned with himself, and though most times he was able to control it, Merlin felt unable to do so at the current moment.

He watched in abject horror as the more the man taunted his friends, the angrier the wolf inside him became. The tenuous hold that Merlin had had on his inner demons was fraying quickly, and soon he was gasping for air on the stone cold floor of the room, in front of the enchanted images he was seeing.

Merlin tried to reason with himself. He had no reason to consider anything he was seeing as being real but he couldn't take the chance that it wasn't. He had to find out, he had to. That was Merlin's last conscious thought before a guttural snarl escaped him and he was more wolf than wizard.

In seconds, as if he intuitively knew, Merlin leapt through the mirror of images, and remembered nothing more.

* * *

The sounds of wet, dragging flesh were revolting, but in that moment, as he tore through muscle and sinew and heard strong men shriek like children, Merlin hadn't been himself. He crawled on the floor, soaked with sweat and his hands, feet and mouth dripping with blood. The sorcerer could barely comprehend what had just happened. He felt something in his mouth and with barely concealed disgust, he spat it out and refused to look at the emission, only used the now un recognizable form of his old trousers to wipe it clean. Merlin, uncaring of the smearing of the blood on his limbs and his sheer nakedness, sat down on the floor, looking at this – this – portal. He saw Arthur and the Knights look around, confused, and gather their things.

He saw Arthur mount his steed and the others follow his lead, riding out of the clearing and dashing at a remarkable pace to Camelot, the red cloaks of his Kingdom rippling the wind as the horses galloped towards home.

The tears came on their own this time, and Merlin let them, but this time, they were not tears of shame.

He had seen Arthur again. Against all odds, he had seen his King, heard him breathe. It shouldn't have but Merlin could feel himself become elated and miserable in the same breath. Merlin had saved Arthur. Even in this state, Merlin had helped him. He had been useful even after becoming a monster.

Merlin could still protect his King.


	7. Drowning without Him

**A/N:** OOOOOOH QUICK UPDATES FTW. Also thank you to those who are leaving comments3  
So leave me a review and tell me what you think?

 **Chapter 7: Drowning without Him**

 _"NO!"_

Arthur shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat and heart racing. Night had fallen, and it took him a good few minutes before the King calmed down enough to realize that he was in his own chambers and that it had already been two days since returning from the patrol.

His breath sounded loud and ragged, even to himself in the quiet of his surroundings, the inhale-exhale of the air leaving and entering his body serving as a bit of a grounding element for him. Being jolted out of his dreams made him feel not quite awake and he felt as if he needed more time to adjust. He blinked blearily in the dark as two sharp knocks premeditated the hurried entrance of Leon into his chambers.

"Sire, we heard a yell from your rooms, are you alright?"

Arthur squinted, trying to avoid the bright light of the hallway to hurt his light sensitive eyes. He felt bad, seeing the way Leon was huffing and puffing, knowing the knight had probably been dragged out of his own bed since the other, younger, knights were scared to enter his chambers.

"Yes, I'm fine. I woke up in the middle of a dream. Go back." Arthur tried to give his most reassuring look to his head knight but given the man's look in response, it was obvious, it did nothing to assuage his concerns.

"Really. I'm fine, Leon. Truly." Leon gave him an exasperated glance and retreated from the room, closing the door as he went.

Arthur hung head, feeling ashamed. As a King, to have his Knights come running in in the middle of the night because of a _nightmare_ was mortifying. He didn't want to admit it but he had changed far too much in recent years. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had had a nightmare that had made him actually frightened.

He ran both hands through his hair and groaning. Normally, it wasn't this bad, after all, the dream was the same every time, just sometimes the events happened out of order. It was always Merlin, in that moment right before the castle had come down on him, the last images of Merlin that he had ever seen, the young man doubled over, fangs growing long and sharp out his mouth and his eyes changing to a canine shape, gasping in pain. He could still hear his own voice, raw with panic, screaming Merlin's name and making eye contact with him just as he could see him turn from man to beast. There had been something predatory and territorial in his gaze, Arthur could see that clearly, and then, right in front of him, the castle collapsed and Arthur would wake up gasping, left again with the knowledge that he would never see Merlin again. That he was responsible for all of it, and if there had been any way to do it over, Arthur would have moved heaven and earth to save his man servant. Maybe that's why Arthur often found it so hard to breathe, because he knew he should have done more and he didn't.

He watched the moonlight dance across his sheets, tracing its shape with his eyes and found that he could no longer sleep, the urge to do so having long since escaped him. He stood then, and pulled on proper clothes, knowing that he could not walk around in the castle wearing his sleepwear, and stepped out into the hallway.

The Knights stationed outside his rooms nodded in acknowledgement of Arthur and he returned the gesture. Then he continued down to corridor until he entered the pathways to the main courtyard and turned from there, almost absentmindedly to the training yards. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and the only ones awake in the castle were the night patrol and the few servants that were preparing items for the coming morning.

Arthur had fully expected the grounds to be empty, with the time that it was, so he was surprised to hear the muted sounds of conversation coming from the courtyard of the training grounds. Without realizing it, he stopped just before he would come into view for whoever was currently sitting there. From this angle, all Arthur could see were two pairs of feet, clearly both knights, judging from the footwear.

Then he heard the sounds of a liquid sloshing around inside a bottle and groaned to himself. Only one person would dare bring alcohol to the grounds.

"It's not something I can control Perce." Yes, that was definitely Lord Gwaine, and from his loose tone, Arthur could tell he was probably by now onto his second bottle at least.

"It's his fault! He brought me here. I told him that I would rather spend my days just playing around, and then he goes and _makes_ me care about that princess I call King." Arthur rolled his eyes, noting to himself that he was going to make Gwaine train all the new Knights tomorrow as punishment. Still, he persevered and kept listening.

"I _told him_ that I didn't want to. But he kept coming back, again and again!" Gwaine took another large gulp and continued. "I didn't want this life Percival. I thought I was going to die alone and drunk in some seedy tavern. But then that twit comes along and he says," Gwaine gave a sort of incredulous laugh, but oddly, it sounded as if he were on the verge of tears instead.

"That scrawny kid says to me that I can do _more_ , that I wasn't meant to leave this world without making a difference and that I should _fight_ to make it mean something more than just booze and drunkenness." Arthur listened silently continually toeing the line between offended and sort of understanding where Gwaine was going. Percival thus far had had the good sense to keep quiet, he just sat next to Gwaine, who was getting more agitated and just made his presence known. Arthur saw him put a hand on Gwaine's knee and how the simple touch seemed to be enough to bring the man back down from the impending frenzy.

"He kept talking about it, how Arthur was _different_ than the other nobles, that he was 'kind'" Arthur could hear the disdain in the Knight's voice as he spoke. "or how he was truly trying to create a fair 'just' kingdom, and that he needed men of the same caliber to help him achieve that goal."

All Arthur heard was Percival sigh before Gwaine began again, now lying flat on ground with head in the older man's lap.

"What am I, your mother? Get off." The startled tone in Percival's voice made Arthur realize that that was most likely the most he had ever the stoic man say since coming to Camelot. Even as a general rule, he seemed more comfortable speaking to Gwaine than to anyone else, so much so that Gwaine had almost become the defacto mouthpiece for anything concerning Percival. Arthur pondered that for a moment until Gwaine continued. His voice sounded thick and heavy, and Arthur couldn't be sure if it was a result of his emotions or his inebriated state.

"He's gone, Perce. Merlin's _gone."_ Now Gwaine was trying to hold back real tears and Arthur was surprised to find himself struggling to do the same. "Merlin was my rock, my person. He made everything better Percival. Even when it looked like we might die, I could just look at him and think, _I don't care if I die now, I have Merlin, I have someone who is mine._ But he's gone and I don't know how I'm going to keep going. My best friend is gone. My best friend, my reason to _live_ is gone and it makes me so _mad,_ that I think I'm going crazy. I want to yell and scream at him for turning me into this mess. I want to tell him to just leave me alone. I want to go back and never meet him. I want to tell him that If he was just going to go and die like that, then _why did he make me want to live, when I was only living to die?_ "

Arthur felt Gwaine's words knife through him and found he no longer had the courage to keep listening, for fear of what he might hear, and so Arthur fled back the way he came, the sound of his feet hitting the floor echoing loudly in his ears. Gwaine's words kept repeating in his head like an accusation. He didn't want to admit that he too felt the same way as Gwaine.

He knew he shouldn't feel like this, but Gwaine's words brought forth a feeling that he couldn't hold back any longer. He was angry, like Gwaine, but not for the same reasons. That stupid twit of a man servant had always made a point of telling Arthur that he and Merlin were in this together. And he had broken that promise. They weren't in it together.

Merlin had left Arthur alone.

* * *

He wasn't going to do it. No, he was going to resist it with everything he had, even if it killed him. It had been 3 days since Merlin had broken through the door and gone on his first killing spree since the day he'd first changed.

It had been the single most painful thing he had experienced since his time in solitude. To know that Arthur was _so close_ was a kind of torture that Merlin hadn't been aware could hurt this much. Going through that portal had been like second nature to him. All it took was seeing his King and his friends tied up and Merlin lost total control of the restraint he had worked so hard to build for three years.

He'd snapped in an instant and broken his own rule to never take a human life again. He could still feel, unnervingly, in his human body, the feeling of bone, sinew and blood in his mouth, and how raw brute strength had allowed him to render skin from flesh in an instant. Merlin had never been more frightened and elated in his life and the unstable combination of the two emotions had made it so that he forced himself to remain in the castle for the next few days, if only to detoxify himself of that feeling of recklessness.

His old clothes, as a result of the last transformation, now needed to be mended again, and that was what Merlin was doing, in an attempt to keep himself busy. He could still hear that portal calling to him, trailing temptingly on the edges of his mind, and Merlin had to keep a firm hold on himself to avoid being lured in like a siren did to her prey.

Merlin shook his head to avoid thinking about it and focused on the task at hand. He was currently wearing dark trousers and a white shirt that he had found in another room in the castle. The warlock could only assume that they belonged to Picus, since the size now fit his own body. He looked at his fingers as they slowly worked on the pants, threading the needle through the fabric, in, out, around and repeat. The monotony allowed for a certain amount of thought that Merlin took advantage of.

He needed to find something to do. If he allowed himself to remain inside the castle indiscriminately, then he ran the risk of approaching the mirror carelessly again and that was something he couldn't afford to happen again. As much as Merlin was loathe to admit it, Arthur would have to learn how to survive without him again. Merlin let out a snort at the idea and surprised himself. He hadn't laughed in the longest time, and here he was, just a glimpse of the King and Merlin found himself somewhat in better spirits. Even if he was a monster, he could still keep an eye on Arthur. He almost smiled when he realized that Arthur would be learning to get used to getting by without having something he never knew he had in the first place.

But the smile disappeared instantly when Merlin realized that while he could see the King again, it didn't mean the King could see him again. He scolded himself for needlessly giving himself the hope that things could ever go back to the way they were.

Arthur could _never_ know he was alive. Knowing the stupidly loyal side to the prat, Merlin could say with clear certainty that if it was found that Merlin was alive that the King would abandon everything to bring him back out some misguided sense of responsibility. That loyalty was what would ruin him if it came down to it. Merlin knew that he was only partially in control of his beastly side and he couldn't risk exposing Camelot to that, not ever. He would rather die alone in the woods like an animal than cause his friends have to put him down. That is if they would even be able to do so, he could still see his own nightmares clearly, the ones in which he ripped his friends apart mercilessly while he screamed, a prisoner in his own body.

Merlin threw the clothes down to the floor, suddenly fed up with the task and stood. He grabbed his cloak and bow and arrows and ducked out towards the rear of the castle. He needed food and hunting was the only way to get it considering winter was approaching soon and all the animals were starting to disappear. Merlin had to get out the castle, away from the mirror and his foolish thoughts.

Wrapping the black cloak around himself, Merlin pulled up the hood and stepped out into the cold, relishing the sharp sting of the air on his cheeks. The temperature grounded him in the present and Merlin forgot, for the while, that he was a monster and that he was resigned to a life of hiding and focused on using his heightened senses to locate his prey. He knew he probably shouldn't feel as content as he did while hunting, but it was a welcome change from the misery that permeated his existence and for that Merlin was grateful.

He walked briskly into the forest, listening carefully for sounds of life as he went. What he heard however, was prey entirely different than what he expected. Merlin listened closely and realized he was hearing the sounds of screaming and the sounds of flesh striking flesh. He kept walking through the forest until he found the source of the noise.

It didn't surprise him that when he emerged from the forest, he was on a cliff on a mountain overlooking Ealdor, and that the sounds he was hearing were coming from a house farther out in the village, almost completely at the base of the mountain. His lip curled in distaste as he recognized the scene. It had been a frequent one when he lived in the village, when he was young and helpless.

The door to the hut opened and Merlin saw a young woman stumble out, falling to the ground in an ungainly heap, and recognized her to be Evelyn. It was old man Ivan's daughter, and from the way she was holding her stomach, Merlin was sure that what he was seeing was another instance of Ivan's way of 'disciplining' his child.

Even from where he stood, Merlin could see that Evelyn was covered in injuries, all in various stages of healing. Moments later, another figure came bustling out and crouched next to her, and Merlin recognized the person as Evelyn's mother, Merina.

"Please Ivan, she apologized!" Tears ran unchecked down her face while she gathered her daughter to her chest protectively. Ivan came tottering out unsteadily out after them, tankard in hand, and Merlin saw that once again, Ivan had taken to beating his daughter while drunk. When he was younger, it had been a daily occurrence and no one had ever been able to do anything about it. Merlin had a soft spot for Merina too, considering she was the only woman in town that had ever treated his mother with the common courtesy expected of each other.

Clearly Evelyn and Merina were terrified, as were the villagers who watched the going's on warily, no one brave enough to interfere. Ivan was a large hulking man, easily the biggest and strongest in the village, a trait that he made sure to emphasize. He considered himself a rather significant prize and that's why, the villagers would whisper amongst themselves, that he had forcibly wed Merina, since in her youth, Merina was widely considered the most beautiful maiden in Ealdor.

Merlin watched as Ivan stomped towards the cowering women and kicked Merina hard, sending both mother and daughter sprawling. Merina was coughing and Evelyn seemed more concerned for her than herself. Merlin felt himself grow angry. He was done. Done watching from the sidelines.

As Ivan made to go after them again, Merlin felt his eyes flash and suddenly the ground rippled minutely under Ivan, so that even he didn't know what was happening until it was too late. Ivan lost his footing, sliding and falling down on the ground and rolling down the hill his home was situated on. A loud snap was heard and then silence for a moment before Ivan began to shriek in pain, holding his left leg when he finally came to a rolling stop.

In his moment of victory, Merlin failed to notice that someone in crowd below had seen the figure on the cliff. But he couldn't help the feeling of slight satisfaction that coursed through him and he watched for only a few seconds longer before he turned and disappeared back into the forest, searching for his next prey.

* * *

Arthur tossed and turned. Then tossed and turned again. Arthur lay flat on his back in the darkness of his chambers and sighed. What was he a child? Afraid of a few nightmares? This was ridiculous. Was he that scared? He sat up and groaned. It was no use, he couldn't sleep. He reluctantly slid out of the bed, stoking the fire in his hearth, rubbing his hands together and warming them before sitting on the desk in front of it. Arthur lit the lamp on the table using the fireplace, since he felt that he would be unable to sleep, Arthur decided he would get a head start on the items needed for tomorrow.

He settled in, knowing that it was very early in the night and hoped that doing something tedious like this would be enough to make him tired enough to ignore the nightmares in favor of sleep. But he was wrong, an hour passed, then two hours and then three and Arthur was no closer to sleeping than he had been before, although on the bright side, he was done most of the work for tomorrow entirely.

He was almost getting ready to lose it again when he heard a light tapping on his door. He sat up straight in his chair, and cleared his throat.

"Come in." To Arthur's surprise, it was Hunith who peeked her head in the door before walking in fully, shutting the door softly behind her. She wore a soft exasperated smile on her face as she walked towards him.

"Lady Hunith, to what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting me? I mean not that I am not happy to see you, but it is quite late. Is something the matter."

"You." Hunith replied simply, stumping Arthur for the moment. He blinked, not quite sure what to make of the monosyllabic response.

"Me?"

"Yes, my King." She bowed her head, and Arthur noticed for the first time that she was carrying a blanket in her hands. "I was told that you were having trouble sleeping."

Arthur sputtered incoherently, vaguely upset that someone would violate his privacy like that until he remembered Leon's face from a few days ago. Of course. Only he would meddle so much in a trivial matter like this. He slumped back in his chair, hanging his head back over the back.

"I told Leon I was fine. Honestly, that man treats me as if I were a child."

"Sire, if I may?" Arthur looked back at Hunith and she gestured to the fireplace. "I have something that may help." She blew out Arthur's lamp and grabbed his hand, stunning him. He allowed himself to be dragged out his chair and brought to sit on the fur padding in front of the fireplace. Hunith left him there for a moment while she brought pillows from his bed to lean against. Then she finally sat down next to him.

In the low flickering light of the fireplace, Arthur could see Merlin in her features, from the line the of her nose to the set of her jaw. It was only her eyes that were different, and Arthur supposed those were what Merlin inherited from his father. The father he had never heard anything about.

"Tell me about him." The words were out of his mouth before Arthur was aware he was asking the question. Hunith looked at him questioningly.

"About who my King?"

"Merlin's father." Arthur saw the widening of Hunith's eyes and her swallow nervously. He held her hand, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He didn't know why, but suddenly he was realizing that there was a lot he didn't know about his manservant, and though it was late, he _needed_ to know everything about him. Maybe he needed to know everything about Merlin before he could even _think_ about letting him go.

"It is not a happy story, Arthur." She said gently, her eyes downcast. Arthur gently held her hand, and just looked at her.

"Just the same. If you can bear to, please tell me."

Hunith's eyes softened and she used the hand that Arthur was holding to draw him to her. She had him lay his head down in her lap, facing the fire and was silent for a moment before she begun.

"It was many years ago, after my mother and father had died, that I met Merlin's father. It was a time of fear. Many people were being persecuted and hunted and no one felt safe in our village."

"Ealdor?" Arthur asked, Hunith shook her head.

"No, this was before Ealdor, I lived in a small house, on my own, some distance from the border to Pellinor's Kingdom. It was my parent's home that I had inherited with my brother, though I lived in it alone, since my brother had gone to work for the King."

"Gaius."

"Yes."

It was quiet while it seemed that Hunith was trying to look for the right words.

"I keep trying to remember if anything special had happened that day, before he came. I wondered if there was a way I could have known how my life would change. But no matter what I do, the answer is the same. Everything was the same and yet, everything was different." Her tone was a sort of wistful that Arthur couldn't even begin to understand but nonetheless, she continued on.

"It was the early hours of the night and I was asleep when I heard banging on the door. When I woke up, I saw my brother standing in the doorway, drenched to bone. It was raining terribly and at first I thought he was alone, until I noticed someone standing next to him." Arthur found it incredibly comforting to hear her voice wash over him while she threaded her hands through his hair. He didn't even think she knew she was doing it.

"The first look I got of him was frightening honestly. He had these _eyes_ Arthur. They looked as if they could see your soul in one glance. Gaius told me in no uncertain terms that I _had_ to hide him. He was being pursued by someone and he had nowhere else to go." Arthur gave her a look and Hunith laughed a little.

"I realize how it sounds, but remember at the time, there was no one I trusted more than my brother and if he needed this, than I would help him no matter what the cost. So, after dumping him on me, my brother left right then and there. It was possibly the most awkward I have ever felt with another human being in my life." She looked into the fire, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality.

"He was a unique man, standoffish, but kind. He spoke unkindly but was quick to lend a hand or offer help. After some time, his being there became as natural as the air I breathed. His presence in my life went from intrusive and uncomfortable to necessary. I never realized how alone I had been before I had met him."

"How did you know you loved him?" He heard a soft cluck of her tongue as she pondered the question.

"The day we realized we were in love was the last time I ever saw him."

"What?"

"He had already been with me for two months and he grew more nervous each day, wondering if today was the day that those who sought him would find him. We sat together, one night, in front of the fire, and talked, as we did everyday. Nothing was different, Sire, and yet, everything _felt_ different. We just looked at each other and realized that it wasn't enough anymore."

"Wasn't enough?"

"Just being near each other wasn't enough. I felt like I had to know everything about him. It was like fire, Arthur. Both of us knew very well that what we had couldn't survive but when we looked at each other, it was like we needed each other like the air we needed to breathe and without him, I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I still can't." Hunith reached behind her, grabbing the blanket she had brought, and draped it over Arthur, the movement natural and only a measure of comfort.

The motion was a like a splash of cold water as the blanket settled. He was assaulted suddenly by a scent he had not smelled in years.

"Is this -" Hunith looked a little startled, from the way Arthur shot up out of her lap, clutching the blanket.

"Merlin's? Yes, I thought you would – Arthur?" But Arthur wasn't listening anymore. He felt like his entire body was throbbing and he knew suddenly, why he couldn't calm down.

It was like she said. No one could tell when everything changed, because it wasn't obvious, the same way the air you breathe wasn't obvious. It never had been because _he had always been there._ There had never been a reason to address it because there had never been the indication that he would lose it.

He couldn't breathe because Merlin wasn't there. He crushed the blanket to his face, feeling the tears splash on to it, knowing he was moments away from sobbing like a child. Everytime he inhaled, he could smell him, the scent of ink, herbs and iron polish, like a sword stabbing at the barely healing wounds on his soul.

His shoulders heaved from the effort of resisting the urge to cry, and Hunith, bewildered by this sudden display of emotion could do nothing else but draw him into her embrace.

He had only just realized it and it was too late.

He was in love with Merlin.

He had _loved_ Merlin. Merlin who was dead. Merlin who never know how he felt because Arthur had killed him.

Arthur loved Merlin and there was nothing he could do about was a fool. An utter fool. He should have known. The moment he left, the light had left Arthur's life.

The moment he was gone, Arthur couldn't breathe because Merlin was his air and without him, Arthur was slowly suffocating.

Drowning in a world without him.


	8. Footsteps of War

**Chapter 8: Footsteps of War**

"He's going to wear a hole in the ground, the way he's going."

The pacing had only grown worse in the last 2 hours. Gaius and Hunith watched apprehensively from the upper parapets as Arthur walked repetitively back and forth whilst observed the new knights train under Gwaine's watchful eyes. Arthur's own knights could sense that something was clearly off with him but none of them knew what it was and most were loath to approach him. Gone were the days where one could carelessly approach the King and ask if he was "alright" personally. It was as if he had deliberately closed himself off to the world. Truth be told, ever since Merlin had gone, the King was a different man, a man that no one knew and perhaps this was the most frightening thing of all.

Whatever had happened, Arthur seemed extremely off – kilter, and unbalanced. It didn't help that Hunith and Gaius were keeping what looked like, a strict watch, over their King. The looks they exchanged amongst themselves were wary and analytical, like they were expecting him to suddenly lose it.

"Gaius. I don't know what to do." Hunith wrung her hands, a little unnerved in the sudden shift in the behavior of the man she almost thought of as her own son. Ever since the previous night he had an almost deranged air about him. She knew that last night's conversion had caused some kind of clarity or epiphany to occur, but the way in which he was dealing with it was alarming.

"There's nothing you can do, Hunith. Until he talks about whatever is ailing him, himself, there's not much more we can do for Arthur." Gaius didn't look any happier than she did, to be content to just wait him out, despite words to the contrary. "What happened last night?" Hunith hesitated, unsure of whether she wanted divulge the proceedings of the previous night at all. She knew Gaius was close to the boy, but she didn't know if Arthur would want his physician to know that he had been in the throes of a panic attack last night.

* * *

"Arthur? Arthur. Sweetheart, what is it?" Hunith clutched the frantic King to her bosom, confused by the panicked expression he wore. His breath was coming in short, labored gasps, and his brow was wrinkled from the efforts of his thoughts. She thought quickly, fearing that Arthur would render himself unconscious if he did not calm down fast.

Hunith grabbed a hold of his face and tried to grab his attention, she needed him to focus. His eyes were darting back and forth but it seemed as though he were lost in his own head.

"Arthur!" Raising her voice, as understated as it was, was all that she needed to pull him back to her. He moved almost as if he were coming back to himself and immediately caught a hold of himself. He was still flustered by whatever he had thought of, but now he was at the very least aware of his own panic. He pulled back from Hunith, holding her at arms-length and took a few deep breaths.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure my behavior must seem strange to you." He got up and walked over to window in his chambers and touched the cold glass window. Arthur closed his eyes and _willed_ himself to calm down, even if his mind was going crazy, no good would come of everyone else being able to tell that he was slowly losing control of his own faculties.

"Well, it isn't exactly reassuring, darling." It was only here, in his chambers, that Hunith ever deigned to treat him with the nicknames and affection that he had seen her bestow on Merlin. Somehow, that, to Arthur was oddly bittersweet, knowing that her sorrow for her son ran deeper than she let on and yet, here she was, attempting to console him.

"I'm sorry. It's... still difficult sometimes for me to sleep, and I have these...spells, at night. I regret having allowed you to witnessed one. All I've done is scare you." Hunith was shaking her head in the negative before he'd even finished the sentence.

"Don't be daft Arthur. I told you, I think of you as if you were my own son, and don't forget, I raised Merlin. That boy had his own _vast_ share of demons." She patted his face again and then motioned for him to sit next to her again. When he did, somewhat staggeringly, she once again enveloped him in the warm embrace of the throw she had pulled from Merlin's room.

"Do you still want to hear the rest of it, dear?" He nodded, not trusting his voice to stay stable. Hunith patted his hand in a sort of rhythmic pattern, as if soothing a child and became lost again in her past.

"I'm not sure we even realized it, back then what was happening, but we just knew." She was looking at him and Arthur had the eerie thought that Hunith knew everything he was feeling.

"You just knew?"

"We could both feel it, that one existing without the other was more pain than either of us could tolerate. Of course," Hunith's expression was one of pain now, her fists clenching tightly. "We both should have remembered who and where we were, because that night, after I went to bed, I woke up the next morning and he was gone. In the next few hours, Uther's army was all over my house, looking for him for ages. I can only assume that Balinor somehow sensed them coming and escaped before he could be caught. Something about having brought shame upon the King by just existing." Hunith saw his startled expression and sort of shrugged her shoulders.

They were silent for some time after this, both lost in their thoughts, until Arthur asked a question he had been hesitating to put into words.

"Do you regret it? Falling in love with him? He left you after all." He was startled by the small laugh that she gave, involuntary as it seemed.

"Oh make no mistake, Arthur, if I had crossed paths with him again in that first month after he'd gone, I would have beaten him silly. But," she touched kerchief on Arthur's wrist with an expression of affection, one that only a mother could give. "How could I remain angry with him when he gave me one of the most precious gifts a woman could ever hope to have. Merlin saved my life just by existing, he gave me something to love and something to cherish just when I was giving up on the thought of life." Arthur could accept that, seeing the way that Hunith treasured her son, it was not inconceivable that she would feel that way about finding a new sense of purpose in her.

For the first time, Arthur felt vaguely ashamed of his Father's actions. He knew Uther had a tendency hand down sentences and punishments undiscerningly. Now it seemed that his actions had caused Merlin to lose his father.

But he did wonder how one survived, feeling that sort of love for someone and then having them disappear, never to see them again. Arthur found that he could answer that question on his own, though it may not be what he thought it was. Not for sure.

He knew that being without Merlin was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Everywhere he went he saw the ghost of Merlin wandering. From the moment his eyes opened, Merlin was there, making snide remarks as he ate breakfast, making fun of him for eating such a sumptuous spread but simultaneously chiding him to eat more, and make sure he left nothing on his plate. Merlin's ghost would wander the halls at his side, and Arthur had begun to feel as though he were going mad.

Hunith watched Arthur's face as he quietly thought to himself, and slowly extricated herself from the blanket and urged Arthur to get up as well.

He never batted an eye at her ministrations and allowed himself to be guided to the bed and put under the covers. He lay there, thinking, with his eyes slowly becoming heavier and Hunith kept watch until his eyes fluttered closed and his breathing evened out.

She breathed a sigh of relief. He was asleep. At last. When Hunith thought back to it, she thought it best to give him a condensed version that would point out the problem without revealing too much.

"He couldn't find it in himself to sleep, and made a request for just some conversation. We couldn't decide what to talk about until he asked about Merlin's father." Gaius raised an eyebrow at that.

"All the conversations in the world you two could have and he chooses _that_ one?" Hunith smiled a little at that. She thought about how to say what she wanted without giving away what the King had probably only just realized.

"I don't think he was asking because he was genuinely interested in my own love story. I think he was trying to compare what he feels to what someone else felt. He's trying to verify something that he can't have anymore. That upsets him more than anything I suppose." Gaius could mildly sense what she wasn't saying aloud and

"I would agree. The most maddening thing is to find out something important when it's too late." Gaius sighed and the two turned away from the pacing King, going back indoors and splitting up.

* * *

Arthur couldn't concentrate no matter how hard he tried. He was sitting in the throne room, trying to focus on the people in front of him. Two older men, each with their with sons, and a timid young girl standing in the center. It was some sort of benign argument about the legitimacy of either one of their sons over the girl to wed. He knew it wasn't Kingly but he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes up to the heavens and potentially let them just stay there from sheer annoyance.

They were speaking to this young woman and her mother as if they were property to be wagered over, offering each of them different traits each son supposedly possessed. Arthur was already having a hard time focusing on real life and not reminsce into the past about a future he would not have and having to hear their banal problems were not helping.

"I have 7 mares and a stallion with at least 3 bulls and possibly three more to come, Matthias, which is more than you and your twit of a boy can say for yourselves." One man, called over, clearly deigning him unfit as competition.

"At least my boy can call himself a man by which any woman would call herself lucky to wed. Unlike your boy who has yet to prove his own potency." The other man's face grew apoplectic with fury and the yelling began anew and with far more vigor than before. It rattled in Arthur's head and he exhaled, frustrated, exhausted and on the verge of genuinely losing his temper.

He slammed down his fist on the armrest of his throne, bringing the dimly clamoring room to pregnant silence. Satisfied that he had their attention, Arthur spoke, noting the quiet entrance of Hunith from just off to his left, the woman quietly taking her spot against a wall.

"Enough." Arthur couldn't help how positively frosty his voice was as he addressed them. "I have heard you two speak at length before me, and what you both have failed to provide here is crucial evidence that you have any 'claim' on this maiden." Arthur made sure to stress the word 'claim' hoping their pea-sized brains would pick up on his displeasure at the act.

"What?" The father of one of the men who was short and portly called Matthias, Arthur recalled, furrowed his brows indignantly and then hastily smoothed them out, remembering that he was speaking to his King, and amended his speech. "What could I have left out, Sire?"

"Yes, we have given them every possible compensation and offering that we can afford for the hand of her daughter and yet they still do not give us the answer." The other parent Thomas spread his hands out, covering a wide berth as tall as he was, with a long, pinched face.

Arthur did actually roll his eyes and saw Leon shake his head, knowing the King was coming to the end of his rope.

"Have you perhaps spoken to Madeline?" The two men blinked at Arthur and looked at the King and then at each other, the suggestion seeming to confound them. The sons were no different, whose names Arthur had not even deigned to try to remember. He prodded them again, clearly seeing they needed help to see common sense.

"I asked you if had spoken to Madeline if she particularly fancied one of these men over the other?" Gwen, who stood just off the side of the throne, next to Hunith did not look impressed at their actions.

"There was no need sire. There is not an abundance of able men in our village, of our caliber and breed. It would be common sense that the girl, -"

"Madeline."

"What?" Thomas stumbled over the King's interjection, and he grew slightly fearful that the King seemed irritated.

"You will address her properly, if you wish to seek her hand in betrothal for your son, then you would do well to at least address her by her given name." Arthur began to tap impatiently on the arm of his throne but a quick glance from Leon did enough to make him stop.

His statement seemed to reduce Thomas to speechlessness, giving Matthias enough time to take over.

"It loathes me to admit it, Sire, but I agree with Thomas. She knows that she can do no better for suitors, that there is no one worthier than my son to wed, but Thomas insists on poisoning the girl's mind against my Ian." Arthur glanced at Ian, who was thin and twigg-ish, despite his father's portly visage. Arthur may even have believed Matthias, if it weren't for the fact that Ian wasn't so much as looking at Madeline, as leering at her. It made him feel vile, and he was only watching the son, so he couldn't imagine how Madeline herself was feeling, noting the way she shifted behind her mother, as if trying to disappear altogether.

Arthur motioned toward Madeline, beckoning her to him. Ever so timidly, Madeline practically tip toed towards him. When she stopped a respectable distance away from him, Arthur cleared his throat, drawing against the full attention of the room and silenced the murmurs of the crowd.

"Alright, since neither of the two of you seem particularly keen on it, I shall ask Madeline herself." He got up and walked over to Madeline, who visibly shrunk at his approach. _Dear god, why are you so jumpy?_ Arthur couldn't help but think exasperatedly to himself.

"Madeline. Which of the two of them, if either, do you fancy?" Her eyes grew wide at his question and became suddenly quite interested in the floor. She muttered something under her breath all at once, and he struggled to decipher it.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that, what did you say?" There was an odd sort of huff from the aisle and it seemed to jump start something in Madeline and she looked up rather abruptly and forced the words out.

"Aldrien, Sire." Arthur blinked at that.

"What?" Madeline looked behind at her mother, who nodded once, sharp and quick.

"I do not wish to marry either man. My heart belongs to another." It seemed to have taken all of her courage to say the words because now the poor soul was quaking where she stood. Arthur patted her on the shoulder to pacify her.

"And would Aldrien be present at this occasion Madeline?" The peasant girl flicked her eyes off towards her right and Arthur glanced up to see a tall, broad man, in a worn shirt and trousers standing in the front of the outer aisle, watching the two of them. He had no further indication from Madeline, but could reasonably assume that he was the man of whom she spoke.

One motion to Gwaine, and the knight was dragging Aldrien up to the King, where he and Madeline conferred together, much to the bewilderment and sputtered protests of Thomas and Matthias.

From there, the path was clear. Arthur gave clear orders that if it was the desire of the couple, they would be free to wed, whenever they saw fit, and that Thomas and Matthias were to keep a well and clear distance from the couple and their families. Failure to do so would evoke the displeasure of their King.

Some hours later, the Great Hall was cleared of villagers and Arthur was able to retreat to his quarters, exhausted. He sat on his bed, having dismissed the servant who was attempting to tend to him and forbid anyone from fetching Hunith unless he expressly asked for her.

Night had fallen and once again Arthur was alone. It had been only a day since his chat with Hunith but Arthur felt unstable, and shaky.

Arthur was fairly sure that he was in love with his manservant. His dead manservant – Arthur corrected himself desolately, which meant that he had all these feelings and no real outlet for it. It was almost pathetic, Arthur thought, and it made him wonder what could have been if he had just realized it sooner.

He allowed himself to go back, consciously for once, to that night, and tried to think about that morning. Merlin had sniped the entire time they had been preparing to leave, muttering something inane about preparations and clothes that he had been wholly ignoring. Now he wished he had listened.

If he had known Merlin was going to die, he would have listened a little longer. Maybe even tried to talk to him without the bickering.

Arthur was well aware that what he was doing was moping, sulking even, but what could he do. It was as if the grief began anew in the wake of this new knowledge. If he had only had the courage to face himself earlier then maybe, he wouldn't regret it as much as he did now.

He glanced out the window, watching the frost inch its way across the window, and rattle slightly against the elements outside. Somehow it was winter again and with-it Arthur wondered where Merlin was.

Was his body where he had left it? Alone? Crushed under stone and ice. He didn't know, he'd never had the courage to back.

The overwhelming guilt he felt would not leave him, even when he ignored the other complications. The fact was that a good man had died in entirely preventable circumstances. But what he still couldn't understand was the Witch's fear when she gazed into Merlin's' eyes.

When he had discussed it with Leon, the Knight had simply chalked it up to the fact that Merlin was much bigger than her previous pet. But Arthur wasn't sure he bought that explanation. Circe had not only feared Merlin but seemed in awe of him. Had actually begged for his forgiveness and stranger still was that Merlin did not appear to find that strange in the least. In fact, it didn't seem to come as a surprise to him at all.

But the more he thought, the more Arthur felt that he was thinking too deeply into matters, no matter how much he felt there had been something else happening in that castle the entire time they were imprisoned there.

Arthur climbed into bed and continued to think, and somewhere in the middle of all that ruminating and deliberating, he fell asleep.

And for once he did not wake until morning, though his sleep was restless and even a little comforting.

* * *

It was getting easier, somehow, to ignore it. Merlin sat alone, in the middle of his prison, having lit a fire. A rabbit hung on a spit above it, roasting, slowly. The room with the mirror still called to him, trailing temptingly on the edges of his mind, it kept reminding him of Arthur and the tantalizing prospect of seeing his King again.

But Merlin knew he had to resist, because the more he got involved in that way of thinking, the greater the chance of Arthur finding out he had survived.

He knew that if he were to look into the mirror and see another threat against Arthur he would not be able to withstand the temptation to go in. The first time he had done it, he was fortunate to have had the cover of night to allow him to move as freely as he had.

Not all of his future endeavors would be as lucky and he could not risk it. He didn't know how his other self would function around humans now, and he didn't know what he would do if it turned out that he attacked his friends and family.

The beast inside him grew stronger every day and Merlin was sure that sooner or later he would lose the fight against it.

It was a matter of time, nothing else.

He almost laughed at the way his thoughts panned out, Merlin wasn't sure when it had started, but the idea that he would be taken over by this "other him" somehow had wormed its way into his psyche despite his best efforts.

It turned into an eventual surety, not something that remained an off – chance. Merlin poked at the meat, checking the tenderness to see if it was cooked. Internally, his mind suggested quite casually, that the level of tenderness didn't particularly matter in as much as actually eating it mattered.

He tried to think of something else, as the smell of the cooking food filled the cavernous room.

He had got up and ventured into what he guessed had used to be Circe's chambers and found himself in front of the vast library of magical texts that she had amassed. It was full of old and worn texts, the pages frail and soft to the touch. Merlin reached up to the 6th shelf, once again marveling at how easily he could reach it now that he was almost 7ft tall.

Sometimes when he was alone, he would forget how tall he was, and then something would happen that would remind him just how much he had changed. He didn't know this new Merlin. This man who was so angry and full of sorrow. Inside he could only wonder at the unfairness of it all, and the injustice of having to serve such a fate. But at the same time, he acknowledged that this was only one side of him.

There was something else there too. Something more instinctive. Primal. It was responsible for the way he had behaved when Arthur had been attacked and when he had raised his hand against that abusive villager in Ealdor.

Like it or not, whatever that witch had done to him, it made him more powerful than he had ever been. Now whether that was beneficial or not was something he hadn't yet been able to ascertain for himself. Not that he was going to give himself a chance to do so.

He had been too relaxed with himself lately. Merlin tried to remind himself of the rules he had put in place for himself. Never to have contact with humans and to never appear in Camelot ever again. It hurt to think that he would have to watch from afar as Arthur's lineage progressed, but what else was he to do?

No matter what he did, there was nothing he could do for the man he had come to think of as his friend.

 _Are you sure?_

Something from deep within the recesses of his mind suddenly spoke out at him, startling him and making him turn around, circling the room as if expecting to find someone else inside with him, knowing full well that were that the case, the person would never have made it inside without detection.

 _You know there is a way to keep your King safe._ _You are just too weak to face yourself, fool._

Merlin blinked. Now he was insulting himself. Clearly he was hungrier than he had initially thought. He grabbed a dusty royal blue book off from the shelves, and walked out of the room, down the hallway back to the main room trying to gingerly pass the enchanted portal.

 _Weakling. You have the answer and you fail to avail yourself. One day. That same fear will surrender your mind to me._

 **Who are you?**

 _You know me. You refuse me my right and refuse your true self. You fool no one, wizard!_

 **I know nothing about which you speak, now begone!**

He threw up the strongest mental wall he could muster, bolstering the one already in place and snarled to himself, now realizing that his other self had finally found its voice, and it appeared to able to converse with him. Merlin could feel the displeasure on the other side of it, colliding with the wolf side of him. The roiling emotions were powerful and he had to be careful not to dwell to too close, lest he himself become swept up in a typhoon of emotions.

Great.

Upon arriving back into the main hall, Merlin was pleased to note that his dinner was now cooked the way he liked it and set to work removing the spit from its fastens and tried to civilize his meal as much as he could.

As he ate, he opened the book he had found, most likely his hundredth since arriving here and settled. He realized after the first few pages that the book contained the instructions for blood rituals, and his lip curled back in disgust, but kept reading.

And reading.

And reading, until he realized he was enthralled by the possibilities that the book presented. He had never thought he could have used Blood sacrifices to do something good, but here he was, looking at an entire book full of protection spells that would work if added just a drop of his blood.

Of course he knew the complications of such enchantments, the fragility of their constructs, not to mention their penchant for turning into a makeshift geographical prison for their caster, but he figured those complications need not apply to him, knowing that he wouldn't particularly be leaving this area for the foreseeable future.

Merlin put the book down and pushed the plate away from him, suddenly having lost his appetite. He bundled himself into the assorted furs he'd pulled from different rooms and lay by the fire, too emotionally drained to even contemplate going back to the makeshift bedroom he'd fashioned for himself.

His eyes closed and almost imperceptibly, his form rippled and waved, until what lay there was no longer human, but wolf.

Merlin didn't even notice, and for once fell into a slumber undisturbed by enchanted mirrors and nightmares, and instead walked with open arms into a night of pure obsidian.

* * *

"My King. Sire? Sire, get up!"

The young King blinked blearily as the curtains in his rooms were drawn back hastily and sunlight, poured in, bathing the room in bright gold. It was Leon, dressed in Camelot colors, with a ceremonial sword adjusted to his hip.

Arthur remembered abruptly, to his chagrin that today was to be a ceremonial breakfast with key Knights. The Knights who formed his chief company and rode with him into battle. He rolled out of bed and hurried over to his armoire, yanking it open.

"Why wouldn't any of you remind me that the Ceremony was happening today? The last thing I need is to be late to an event that I'm supposed to be hosting!"

Leon wisely chose not to answer the rhetorical question as the King flung his clothes off in favor of new ones and just settled on clearing his throat, in the hopes that it would catch the King's attention.

"Ahem." Arthur stopped, midway through shoving his feet through his pants and into his shoes. He caught sight of the Knight's expression and realized something else was going on.

"What?" Leon stepped forward and presented the King with a rolled scroll. Arthur took it but didn't open it.

He just looked at the Knight and his shoulders dropped.

"The Ceremony is going to have to be postponed wont it?" Leon nodded grimly and the King knew then, that today was not at all going to go as he thought it would.

* * *

"What do you mean an army?" Arthur paced around the table placed near the throne in the Great Hall. Around him stood his Knights, Elyan, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, and Leon, all looking as worried as he did. Leon just shook his head and nodded toward the opened scroll on it.

"I know about as much as you do, Sire. That comes from our northern sentries and if it came from Carhaix, then Pelinor's army could be here in less than two days. They were already half way past Carhaix when the sentries spotted them."

Arthur tried to think. If King Pelinor was making such a bold claim toward him when he knew that Arthur's army easily outnumbered his, it meant he had some kind of wild card that significantly tipped the balance in his favor.

Pelinor was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He turned to Gwaine and pointed at him.

"Gwaine, how ready are the new soldiers you've been training." Gwaine snorted.

"They're one hay bale short of a barn but they'll do in a pinch. Say the word and I'll get them ready to march within the hour."

"No," Arthur shook his head, waving his hand. "That's exactly what he wants us to do. There's no way he's marching from that faraway and he just _lets_ himself get sighted when he's still 3 days out from his target. It would give us too much time to prepare and he knows it. No, he wants us out there, he knows the way my father would do this and he assumes that I would do the same."

Arthur's brow crinkled as he weighed his options.

"But I am not my father." He whirled around and motioned for the men standing at the doors to the great hall to open and called in the heads of all of his workers as well as all of the Senior Knights and Soldiers he had.

"Pelinor thinks that he is using my Father's war schemes against me, but I can assure you that will not happen. I will not allow for my Kingdom to be taken by a man such as he. No, we will wait here. If Pelinor wants to rule Camelot, he knows the Castle must fall first. If we are able to prevent that, then we win the fight." He pointed at Gwaine and then to the soldiers.

"Gwaine, get them ready, I want a full perimeter around the Kingdom, no one goes in or out. Each must be out fitted with the appropriate weapons for ground combat. No horses. If we are short of functional weapons, take the broken ones and gather every available blacksmith and get to work on smelting more. No one leaves, no one comes. We all do this together, or we die together."

Gwaine nodded curtly and signaled for the Knights to follow him and marched out of the doors, taking the men with him.

Arthur then spent the better part of the evening barking orders left and right. He thought nervously to himself as his people scurried in and out of the room. Even though normally this was the time of night that the castle would be settling into sleep, it was wide awake and bustling with activity.

This was the first time he had experienced a battle properly since Merlin had died and Arthur found himself feeling lost. Normally the antsy young man would be with him, helping him think through the finer points of his strategy. Even if he made no logical sense, just having him there usually gave him such a sense of peace.

Now, Arthur would have to learn do to without him. He had survived three years without Merlin by his side. Surely he could survive this.

Surely.

* * *

Merlin sniffed the air as he ventured out of the castle for the first time in a month. Something was different. Something was not right. The snow crunched under foot as he slipped into the ice covered forest surrounding the castle at the bottom of the sloped mountain he lived on, making his way to the southern Cliffside.

Distantly, he heard clamoring and marching. Dull sounds but amplified as if they came in great numbers. The sounds became muffled in the forest, but Merlin's heightened senses allowed him to pinpoint its direction and follow the sound.

He walked as if cutting through the forest, ducking under branches, to avoid getting walloped in the head. The sounds grew louder as he approached and when Merlin finally caught up with it, right at the lip of the cliff, he was a greeted by a sight he had not expected in the least.

Below him, marching by for as far as the eye could see, was an army. An army of chainmail clad knights, all carrying, scythes, broadswords, and shields. They all marched in tandem and at the helm Merlin could see a man walking in a formation that set him vastly apart from the rest.

It was a man, garbed in jewel toned blue, visible even in the waning sun sitting atop an armour clad steed. He was surrounded on all sides by a set of personal guards. If that wasn't enough, the crown sitting jauntily on his head gave away his status pretty clearly.

Merlin with his exceptional vision could see the face of the man clearly and had sat in on enough of Arthur's alliance and treatise meetings to recognize him instantly. It was King Pelinor, and judging by the manner in which he was setting out towards what he could only assume was Camelot, he was not here on friendly terms. Pelinor had declared war on Camelot. And if he was coming for Camelot, Merlin was sure he was bringing with him all manner of witches and wizards to aid him in quest. Everyone knew that unlike King Uther and his hatred for the magical abilities, Pelinor was inclined in favor of magic so as it was beneficial to him and his endeavors.

Merlin stood frozen on the cliff, quickly dropping on all fours to avoid being seen and thought quickly. Did Arthur know? The question was, what was _Merlin_ going to do? Would he standby and do nothing? Leave it to Arthur to deal with?

Actually, the bigger question was _could_ he standby and do nothing?


End file.
